#so many times thought i was moving forward | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

onaswife · 18 hours ago

Text

A pleasant reunion

Couple: Ingrid Engen x reader

Ingrid G!P

Note: This is my first G!P story so there may be some big mistakes or weird things, but I'll try to improve over time. Smut. I tried to follow the original idea, sorry if I missed a lot, but it's honest work 🤞🏻✨️original idea from @sachnobie

You had made your debut in your home country, the Netherlands.

FC Twente Vrouwen had been your home for over five years; you loved that club, but you felt it was time to take on new challenges in your career.

During your UEFA Women's Champions League campaign, you had caught the attention of many foreign teams, including the team where your sister played in England.

The last few months at the club were hectic; you received offers every other day, each one better than the last. You were on the verge of accepting the offer from Olympique Lyonnais, which promised you many good things, but only a two-year contract, a good salary, and an apartment in the team residence.

You considered it; you even had to call your sister to ask her what she thought about the contract they had offered you, since it was the first contract you had received from an international club. After she told you you could ask for better things and cut short your dream of leaving for so little, it seemed as if, almost magically, the best contract they'd offered you had fallen through the cracks.

Barcelona FC.

You couldn't deny being excited that the team was interested in you. You'd been a fan since you were little, watching Iniesta play and seeing the magic he had when it came to playing. It made you quite excited, but you were insecure. How would you do it being so far away from your family, with a language you didn't know and that was so difficult for you, on top of having to meet new people (which made you quite anxious; between you and your sister, you were the shyest).

Although you didn't reject the offer, you kept them waiting.

It went on like that for a week… or maybe a little longer, a few days… a month, actually.

And you were going to keep putting it off until the day you played your last Champions League match with your club (which also hadn't wanted to renew your contract), you were visited by one of FC Barcelona's recruiters, wanting to talk to you about the contract, while your sister and your agent waited in the tunnel.

You had a pleasant farewell on national soil after losing 7-3 to Wolfsburg.

The match was quite lively, aggressive more than anything. You were fighting tooth and nail to try to equalize the score against the German team, but you hadn't had many opportunities. The green team seemed to know every move your teammates were planning, which was starting to tire you out.

The play began in the 26th minute, with an inside pass from the center backs as they evaded the opposing team's forwards. Lynn played a long pass that landed at Renate's feet, who quickly flicked a short cross to Bente.

Two defenders rushed to block some kind of pass she had in mind, until she saw you near the right wing, while your defender was closing down another of your teammates, leaving you with enough space.

At minute 27:56, you received the pass over the top. It was coming quite quickly. You settled in, and as soon as the ball dropped low enough, at minute 28:00, you volleyed it home, scoring the most beautiful goal of that match. It took a magnificent spin and nestled in the left corner while the goalkeeper was on the ground, beating it in frustration.

You didn't have time to celebrate as you listened to your defender seemingly insulting the air. You ran toward the goal, picked up the ball, and placed it in the center of the field, ready to continue playing.

During the first goal, the fans couldn't stop screaming and chanting your name, celebrating that lucky goal that had fallen right in the 28th minute. The same number you wore on your back with such pride because it meant so much to you. It was your and your sister's birthdates.

The match ended sadly, mostly because of the defeat and your early departure. All your teammates gathered in a large circle while the captain gave a speech that made you cry. When the girls from the other team realized what was happening, some came over and joined in the farewell while you continued to cry but also smiled.

At the end of the speech, one by one, they approached you to hug you and wish you luck. Ingrid Engen was one of those people; even though she wasn't on your team, she approached you and offered you a warm and friendly hug.

"I hope your next club values you and that you enjoy this new stage."

Her voice was so beautiful, you could listen to it all day and never get bored. You tightened your arms around her as you gently caressed her back with your outstretched hand, feeling her body heat.

"I hope the same for you… I hope we can continue sharing the field in the future."

She pulled away from the hug as she placed her hand on your cheek and gave you a soft, toothy smile. You froze at the touch of it on your skin. As she walked away, talking to one of her teammates, you couldn't help but feel embarrassed. She wished you luck, so you wouldn't be paralyzed later, unable to do anything.

After the fans' farewells and the traditional lap to sign and take photos with your fans, you walked slowly toward the tunnel, listening for the last time to hear your name being chanted in the stands.

Your agent was waiting for you with a sad smile on his face, his nose red as were his eyes, a sign that he'd been crying just like you. You walked over to him and hugged him. They both knew everything you'd been through that season and how it hurt so much.

A few meters further into the tunnel was your sister, who was talking to the Barcelona scout. From where you were standing, you could see it was a rather serious conversation; neither of them stopped talking and they were moving their hands emphatically.

You walked slowly, having separated yourself from your agent's arms and being followed by him. When they both noticed you, they fell silent. Daniëlle quickly opened her arms when she saw that your eyes were still watering, and you quickly bumped your body into hers.

You stayed like that for what seemed like hours, but were actually minutes, being comforted by your older sister as she whispered words of encouragement.

That same afternoon, you signed your contract with Barcelona, accompanied by your family.

And five months later, you were already having your first training session with the team.

You lived in an apartment 20 minutes away from Joan Gamper, but even so, you had gotten up early that day, mostly because you were eager to meet all your new teammates, with whom you'd be sharing a locker room for the next few years.

You got up and took a shower, hoping that would hopefully clear your mind of the day's bad prospects. After getting dressed and combing your hair, you called your mom. She calmed your mind and said everything would be fine. You believed her.

You arrived at least 30 minutes early, nerves racing through your body. The coach was waiting for you, along with Alexia, since you'd said you'd be arriving early. The two of them took the time to show you around Joan Gamper and welcome you.

After that, the day went by normally. You couldn't help but feel self-conscious about your new club. You didn't know any of the girls since you'd never played with them, which made you feel a little insecure.

At lunchtime, you didn't know who to sit with. You still felt like you couldn't possibly meet anyone since you'd never shared a court or anything. Except for Hansen.

You had played against her a few times when she played for Wolfsburg. You decided to sit alone. You needed to review what had happened during the day, see what you needed to improve in your performance, and give yourself encouragement to keep going.

You felt a presence next to you. You looked at who sat next to you and found Caroline. She looked back at you with a small nod as you began to eat.

"I thought you'd sit with the others," you said in a low voice as you began to play with your food. It was more of a routine than a way to avoid eating. You needed to see everything on your plate before you could start eating.

"I think I appreciate them… a lot, but sometimes I need silence when eating… or doing any activity. They have too much energy for me." When you heard her speak, her tone similar to yours, you couldn't help but smile; you felt exactly like her.

They had all welcomed you, but during the day, you realized that, compared to you, they exuded much more energy than you could handle in a day. Maybe it was because they had grown up with lots of sunshine, and you grew up in a place where it was more common for it to rain cats and dogs than to have a full day of sunshine. And maybe that was true, since Caro had a personality similar to yours, and she was from Norway, almost a neighbor of the Netherlands.

From that brief interaction you had that day, Caro and you became inseparable. Wherever she was, you were there, and vice versa. You seemed glued to the hip, the best of friends.

That's why you were the first to find out about Ingrid's arrival to the team. Caro told you, quite excitedly, during a phone call after an international break.

You couldn't help but feel excited by the news. You couldn't deny that Ingrid made your heart flutter in your chest and made you feel those typical butterflies in your stomach. But you also didn't want to relate to her that way; from what you'd heard, she was in a relationship. You couldn't help but feel jealous of this person who could have Ingrid.

When the international break ended, you were one of the last to return to Barcelona. You wanted to enjoy the few days you could with your family and catch up with your sister, who enjoyed knowing you were okay in Spain. Obviously, you avoided telling her that you didn't talk much with your teammates except when they were playing a game.

You arrived quite tired from the long trip. You went straight to bed, took a short shower to get rid of the airport and airplane smell, and then went to sleep.

Maybe it was 10 minutes or 10 hours, but it was the sound of the doorbell that woke you up. You woke up groggily at the sound, not having been able to take the time you normally take to wake up.

You slowly opened the door, still rubbing your eyes to try to chase away the sleep that still lingered in your body. You froze when you saw who was on the other side of your door.

"What are you doing here, Graham? I need to recover as much energy as possible so I can handle the girls' energy."

You could only stand there like a fool, feeling your cheeks heat up. "Sorry I came by without warning… I told Caroline to text you, but she said it wasn't necessary," she excused herself as she leaned closer to you. You could clearly smell the perfume she was wearing; it was sweet, but not enough to be bothersome.

You stared at her when you saw her lean a little closer to you, as if she wanted to hug you, but didn't dare. And neither did you.

"It's like this. I think we're pretty close. You can come over anytime, too." You gave her a somewhat shy smile as you stepped aside, inviting her in. She gave you a smile, one of those that made your cheeks and chest heat up, as she walked past you, brushing her arm against yours.

You talked about everything and nothing while eating the Chinese food they'd ordered. Caro caught you up on family matters, just as you did. Her brother had started dating one of his teammates from the national team, while your sister started talking to one of her teammates from the new team. From what she'd told you, she liked him.

Ingrid listened to everything silently, while watching them. You could feel her gaze lingering on you for a few minutes longer than usual.

"And you? Tell me you've already met someone," Caro said in a slightly mocking tone as she lightly hit your knee with the back of her hand. You couldn't help but blush at her mockery.

"I think love isn't for me right now… or maybe all the luck in love will end up going to my sister… it's amazing how she always ends up dating some pretty girl." The three of them in the room laughed. When you finished, you leaned completely on Caro's arm, while she pulled away from you slightly to hug you affectionately.

"Tell me that at least this time you were able to talk to her like a normal person and without avoiding her, Caroline." Your voice sounded more subdued due to the sleepiness that had overtaken you again, but Ingrid understood it differently.

Hearing you say it in a more subdued tone, she thought you were in love with Caro, but that you weren't able to tell her how you felt. That made something inside her feel different, distinct, as if she didn't like the fact that you had those feelings for Caroline and not for her.

The next day, you arrived early as usual. In the locker room, you ran into Alexia and Ingrid, who was being given a tour of the Joan Gamper.

Alexia approached you and wrapped you in a tight hug. Alexia had something that made people feel comfortable around her. You liked cuddling with Alexia; she reminded you a lot of Daniëlle, although of course, Alexia was twice your sister's size.

He pulled away from the hug and placed a soft kiss on your hair, then ruffled your hair. You frowned as you let out a sound similar to a grunt, and walked away toward your cubicle. Ingrid looked at you with a soft smile on her lips. You blushed at the sight of her eyes on you, but you smiled back.

This time, she approached you with more confidence and hugged you. She still smelled the same as the last time you hugged; her arms felt like heaven and heaven. "How are you? How did you sleep?" You heard her voice and felt her breath against your ear, as you grew more nervous. "I'm fine. I slept pretty well last night. I was a little more tired, so I'm sorry if I wasn't a good hostess. How are you?"

Ingrid pulled away from the hug, but didn't move far from you. She brought her hand up to your cheek, caressing your cheekbone with her thumb, just like she did when you played for your old club. "I slept pretty well. I enjoyed getting to know you better last night." You could feel Alexia's gaze, a confused one, on the two of you.

Since you'd arrived at the club, you'd seemed comfortable and close with a few teammates, maybe four people. They were the only people you allowed to have that much physical contact with you, or at least longer. With the others, if you accepted hugs when celebrating or greeting someone, you obviously didn't deny them, but you didn't let unspoken hugs last too long either.

And so the next few days went by, they passed normally. Ingrid had already begun to get closer to the other girls on the team, while you remained close to Caro. If you weren't with Caroline, you were usually with Aitana. You got along quite well with her; you understood each other very well on the court and off it too; you were like one person.

Ingrid watched you from afar. You looked pretty good in that sleeveless uniform and the shorts you'd rolled up after losing a ball possession against Alexia. She had to look away before continuing to think about things she shouldn't, as she'd started to feel the familiar tug in her lower stomach.

She walked over to stand next to Fridolina, starting a conversation about training and the outing they were going to do after practice.

They were going to meet at Patri's house to celebrate a team night. They did it every two weeks, or maybe a little more depending on their monthly schedule.

That night was Patri's, and she was the most excited to be hosting. Normally, you didn't go, preferring to rest or catch up with your friends or your sister, who had some very interesting things to tell you lately.

When lunchtime arrived, you were one of the last to walk to the locker room to change from your soccer cleats into some gym shoes. You walked in wondering, or trying to guess, what lunch would be for that day. You were never a big fan of the food they served, but that was because you were used to home-cooked food, or the food your mother made.

You finished putting on the shoe on your right foot when you heard a gasp, followed by a muffled moan. At first, you didn't think anything of it, but as it became more frequent, you worried. What if someone was having a heart attack or something?

You stood up, still barefoot, and walked around the locker room, trying to figure out where the gasps were coming from.

The sounds were coming from one of the restrooms. Your curiosity was already growing rapidly. You wanted to know if someone was really suffering from a health problem or if someone was playing a prank on you, with someone coming out to scare you from that room.

The door was ajar, so you looked through the gap between the door frame and the door, and you saw it.

Ingrid was sitting on a stool with her profile to the door, her shorts bunched around her ankles, and her hand on his member.

You didn't want to look any further; it was still Ingrid's privacy, and you weren't going to break it. So you slowly took a step back and returned to your cubicle to finish putting on the remaining shoe so you could go eat.

You arrived blushing and quickly, after choosing what to eat, sat down in your usual spot, now accompanied by Caroline, Aitana, and the club's newest addition, Fridolina.

The three of you were eating in silence, the only thing you could hear being the clink of cutlery and the laughter of the other girls. You sat down quickly, unable to look up from your plate as the blush lingered on your face.

No one said anything; Graham just looked at you more than usual before continuing to eat. Ingrid appeared 15 minutes later, blushing slightly but as calm as ever.

As soon as she arrived, she started a conversation with Aitana and Fridolina. Caroline and you joined in with small "yeses," "that's right," and "mmmm," too engrossed in your eating—or at least Caroline was. You were lost in your own thoughts, unconsciously thinking about what you had seen.

The day continued like this. You avoided Ingrid as much as you could. If she was using a machine, you went to the other end of the spectrum so you wouldn't run into her and talk to her. It sounded cruel, but you felt quite embarrassed to have walked in on her in such an intimate situation.

Unfortunately, you were convinced by Aitana and Caroline to go to the meeting. You didn't want to, but they insisted so much that you ended up accepting. You had thought about saying yes and then telling them your car was out of gas, or something like that, but Graham quickly told you she would pick you up at your apartment. You had no choice but to accept.

You met Caroline outside your apartment building. She was in the driver's seat, and you climbed in as her passenger.

"I can't believe you're almost exactly the same size as me," she said after greeting you.

"What are you talking about? We're not going…" You were about to continue talking, but you gave her a look and fell silent. You were wearing jeans of a similar color, a t-shirt of the same style and color, and you were both wearing white Adidas sneakers.

You sighed heavily as you threw your head back. "I'll go change. Wait 10 minutes, and I'll be ready." You were about to open the door when you heard your roommate again. "Okay, we can handle a few more hours of banter."

Ever since you started getting close to the Norwegian, all the Spanish girls in the club had started saying that the two of you were in a relationship, but you didn't want to tell them you were officially dating. They were really annoying about it, always saying some stupid thing just to piss them off.

The drive was calm, occasionally talking and then continuing in comfortable silence, filling the space in Caroline's car.

You received a message: "I hope you have a good time today, and don't dwell on Ingrid. What you saw is over. She'll still be your friend, little one. Even so, I'll hit her when I see her for not being able to wait until she gets home, or at least lock the door." You laughed as you read your sister's message, followed by a photo of her with her new girlfriend, who seemed to be waving at you happily. "Ellie says everything will be okay and that she wishes you a good night." "Xoxo, little one." You turned off your phone and put it back in your pocket.

"I'm going to tell you something. I don't care if you don't want to know." You took a breath as you thought about how to say it. You could have told your sister, but it was more of a written message, which was very different from saying it out loud. "I think I caught Ingrid in the middle of a self-love episode." You took a few minutes before looking at her. In those minutes, absolute silence reigned. "I don't think I understood you, Flea," you sighed, trying to figure out how to explain it better. "Oh, well, I think I understood that you saw Ingrid… well, you know, in an intimate moment."

You swallowed nervously as you played with the rings on your fingers. "A few hours ago… in the locker room. I really didn't want to see something like that, but I started hearing gasps and thought, , so I set out to search and found her in a rather compromising position."

"So you didn't see her in the act, do you suppose she was doing that?"

"I don't think I saw her at the moment, but-"

"So you're not sure."

"How should I interpret the image of Ingrid with her pants down and her… thing, you know, her… wand in the air? I was standing there, and she was panting a lot."

Both of you fell silent again, while this time you covered your face with both hands, completely embarrassed by what you had just remembered and said out loud.

"That's why you've been acting weird with her." It was more of an information than a question, because yes, you had been acting strange.

"What else should I do? Dani told me to forget about it, but it's like I've caught you… or Aita, in a compromising situation."

"You'd never catch me in a situation like that. I know how to control myself and close the doors properly."

You groaned in frustration as you threw your head back against the seat again. "Daniëlle told me the same thing."

Upon arrival, the topic now behind them, they continued on their journey and the beginning of the night. They waited, standing side by side in front of the door, greeted by Ingrid and María, who seemed quite delighted to see them arrive together.

"The lovebirds have arrived. How was the trip? Did you enjoy it? Maybe that's why they took so long to arrive?" You listened to María, but you were attentive to Ingrid's face, watching her reaction when she heard María joke.

"Shut your mouth, Maria," Caro replied in a serious tone as she took your wrist and urged you to enter Patri's home. After greeting the girls who had already arrived, you slowly approached with a glass of water to where Patri's birds were. Watching them eat calmed you down.

You stared at them for what felt like several long minutes, until you felt someone grab your wrist. "What's wrong, Caro?" you asked in an inquisitive tone. She was the one who usually grabbed your wrist to take you somewhere, or to get you out of your thoughts.

"I didn't know you and Caroline were in a relationship." As soon as you heard her voice, you froze in place.

"We're not together, but the girls love to tease us because I'm attached to Caro," you replied after a few long minutes of somewhat awkward silence.

"Well, it seems like Caro has a huge crush on you. She always seems to be glued to you. I'd also think you were girlfriends," you laughed without amusement at her words.

"I don't need someone to celebrate my friendship with Caroline. We both know what we're about, and we don't need someone else's approval of our friendship."

You looked at Ingrid, who was still standing beside you, still holding your wrist with a little more pressure.

"I'm not jealous of anyone."

"Well, it seems that way, as if you're in love with her."

In an instant, Ingrid tugged at your wrist, and you felt your back hit a wall, sandwiching the Norwegian woman's body between it and the wall. "What are you doing? Was I right about you being in love, Don Caro? Because I thought you were in a relationship." You raised your chin while raising an eyebrow, almost defiantly, thinking you'd hit the nail on the head.

"Do you really believe that? That I'm in a relationship?"

A nasal sound came from you as you looked away. "It's obvious you were, and now you ran so you could stay with Caro. Do it, I'm her friend." The taller woman pressed you further against the wall, so much so that you could already feel her erection against your thigh and hipbone.

"Do you really want me to have to shout it? You're the one I love… ever since that time I had to say goodbye to you when you left your former team… I've been wanting to kiss you." Her face leaned toward your neck, and you felt her breath hit your sensitive neck. "But it was vulgar because we were in public. Then your teammate wouldn't let me get close… I want you to be my girlfriend, to be teased with me and not Caro… I want to be the one who greets you like Alexia does, to be close to me like you are with Caro, and to be the one who helps you comb your hair before a game, not Aitana."

You were speechless when you finished listening to her. You didn't know what to say; Ingrid had practically just told you she was in love with you. You felt that knot in your stomach and your heart flutter in your chest. When you felt Ingrid lean closer, you pushed her away.

You were afraid that by telling her she would use you, you weren't good at trusting people when they told you they liked you romantically, you had been through bad experiences.

"I'm sorry…" you whispered, while looking anywhere other than Ingrid's green eyes. She looked at you confused. She knew you were a person who felt more than others, but when she experienced it herself, she felt bad. You were easily overwhelmed when it came to emotions.

She held you in her arms as soon as she saw you start to cry, giving you a tight hug, trying to help you feel less.

"I like you too, Ingrid, but I don't want to be a game. I don't want to be that again." Feeling Ingrid's scent so close made you feel calm, which was helping you a lot.

The next 10 minutes were minutes focused entirely on you, on helping you stop feeling so overwhelmed and on protecting you.

"If you want, I can drop you off home… you must be tired," she murmured against your hair, caressing your back. Your hands rested on her waist as you held tightly to her clothes.

"You're not leaving?"

"I'll stay as long as you need and want me around."

As soon as they got to their car, they both sat there. A comfortable silence spread through the car. You looked at Ingrid, who seemed to be plugging into the car horn to put on some music.

You stared at her bare arms, the veins popping out on the back of her hand, and you couldn't help but shift uncomfortably in your seat. She noticed and rested her hand on your thigh, trying to calm you down. You gave her a smile and turned your gaze back to the window.

The drive was silent until you reached the parking lot of your apartment. You both looked into each other's eyes, and almost as if they'd been held hostage, you leaped to taste each other's lips.

Ingrid's lips tasted of cherries and paradise; she was a wonderful kisser, while her hands rested on your waist, leaving small caresses. You brought your hands to her neck, then tangled one in the hair at the nape of her neck, tugging lightly. You moaned against her lips as she squeezed your waist, pulling you closer.

"Do you think you can make it to your apartment? I don't want our first time to be in a car," she said as she pulled away from your lips, one hand smoothing your hair.

"Bullshit," you pulled her hair back to kiss her, signaling her to push the seat back.

She pulled away again, but to look toward the backseat, giving you a silent invitation. She moved in first, then you, positioning yourself on her lap and beginning to rock you against her already growing erection.

You moaned against her lips as she ran her hands over your back, leaving small squeezes. She pulled away and pulled your shirt over your head, while you did the same with her shirt. You stood for a few seconds, admiring how good she looked without a shirt and bra.

Obviously, it wasn't the first time you'd seen her like this. You shared a locker room with her, and she often took off her shirt to go shower.

She pulled you in again for a kiss. As the pads of her fingers dug into the fat of your hips, knowing she would leave marks there. You were beginning to gasp against her lips, your hands resting on her chest.

You felt her hips thrust upward again, rubbing against your still-clothed center. With a bit of desperation, you began to tug at her bra, wanting to take it off. She laughed against your lips. "I have a girl who's a little desperate to feel me... I also want to feel you, love."

You smiled as you placed small, soft kisses on his cheeks, watching as he blushed more beneath you. For a moment, you stopped and simply stared at his face, a little flushed from the activity you were doing and also panting.

"I want to feel you... but I don't want you to abandon me." Ingrid looked at you, she really did, she seemed to see your soul at that precise moment. "I would never abandon you, you're my girl." She left a short kiss on your lips, before hugging you tightly.

You stayed like that for a few minutes until she started to move your hips against her erection again. Her hands rested on your waist, helping you move better. You grabbed your bra straps and pulled them down a little until she was the one who took off your bra and threw it and your shirt on the floor of the car. "You're so beautiful," she left a kiss in the middle of your breast while you threw your head back, feeling the pleasure run through your body.

You moaned as you tugged on her hair, inviting her to go lower. She pulled away and looked at you again, waiting for something. You sighed shakily as you kissed her again. Your hands moved down to her abdomen as she mimicked your movements, going a little faster. Her hands took hold of your pants button and played with it for a few minutes, trying to make you more desperate.

I sat you in the car seat, while she unbuttoned her own pants and began to pull them down her hips and thighs. When you saw her erection up close, you felt yourself getting even wetter. You brought your hands to your pants and began to pull them down. As she watched you do so, a lustful smile spread across her face. Her eyes seemed darker as her pupils became more dilated, almost erasing the green from her eyes.

She sat back down and positioned you on her lap. You could feel her erection better now, while she seemed to enjoy watching you on top of her even more. "Are you okay like this? Or would you prefer it another way?" You moaned as you adjusted yourself, then leaned closer to her, wrapping your arms around her shoulders so you could be firmer. "I really want to ride you, Ingrid."

She remained silent for a few seconds, processing what you had just said, while you began to pull down her boxers, exposing her promising cock. As she came out of her trance, she let out a moan louder than the others that had left her throat, while her fingers gripped your waist. You pushed your panties aside and aligned her against your entrance, feeling her glans push against you.

Both of you moaned at the same time, she from feeling how you were squeezing her and you from feeling how his big cock seemed to open you up for her. "God Ingrid, you feel so good... you fill me up so good," you whispered against her jaw, as you began to move slowly over her.

She didn't seem to respond. You looked at her face, her jaw clenched, as she looked anywhere but at you. "You can cum Ingrid, I know it's normal to be like this" you panted in her ear while you searched for your own orgasm "I don't care if you fill me with your cum, I really want you to do it. Fill me" you continued murmuring against her ear, feeling how she clung tighter to you.

Her hands moved to your ass, squeezing and spreading it, letting you feel more pleasure as she entered you deeper. By now, the windows were fogged up, and the car was moving with your movements on Ingrid's cock. It felt so good to ride her and watch her crumble beneath you.

"God... Kjære, you feel so good... I'm going to do it, I'm going to fill you with my cum and you're going to take it so good." You felt her teeth sink into your shoulder, as she stifled a moan that seemed to come from deep within her chest. You felt her cum shoot inside you, which made you want to reach orgasm even more.

You brought your hands to her hair, tugging at it as you used her to get your orgasm. She was more than happy to be used by you.

"Do it on my cock kjære, let me know how good my cock makes you feel" you moaned against her lips to bite them softly and pull on her lower lip, while you felt how you were getting closer and closer to achieving your long-awaited orgasm.

Ingrid moved one of her hands to where your bodies met and began to rub circles on your clit, which helped you reach your limit. That gentle, then sharp tug in your lower abdomen, followed by spasms and that heaven-sent feeling, was what indicated you'd reached orgasm on Ingrid's cock.

She help you through your orgasm, then begin to kiss you softly and tenderly caress your back. "How are you feeling? I think I have some wet cloths in the trunk to clean you up." She place a kiss on your cheek and tidy your sweaty hair, which was sticking to your forehead. "I'm fine, just... give me a few minutes to recover." You felt her laugh on your cheek followed by another kiss.

"Sorry if it wasn't what you expected."

"It was better than I expected, Ingrid... thank you." You placed a kiss on her cheek and then a softer kiss on her lips, while she admired how you looked after the orgasm.

"I don't think it's the right time, but can I be your girlfriend?" You smiled big to kiss her.

"Of course, but you still owe me a date and a proper proposal... although I do want to be your girlfriend." You smiled and placed several kisses on her face, feeling her smile widen.

At the next training session, both of you arrived together while Ingrid's hand protectively wrapped around yours and both of you were talking about where they would go to dinner that day.

They entered the dressing room and separated, each going their separate ways. You felt Alexia's arms wrap around your shoulders and you quickly took refuge in her arms like a little girl. "How have you been? I've been trying to contact you and you haven't answered, I was worried." She placed kisses on the top of your head, just like Daniëlle did to calm you down. "Sorry, I wanted to take some time for myself, Ale. I won't worry you like this again," you whispered against her chest, where you could hear her heart beating.

She pulled away and squeezed your cheeks, just like she did with her younger sister and the other girls on the team. Then she turned around and went back to her cubicle. You started changing there to begin training.

It wasn't until the end of the day that Pina screamed loud and clear when she saw Ingrid leave a small kiss on your lips before going to shower. That they had seen you kissing and unleashed a chaos of gossipmongers. But neither you nor Ingrid could be more worried. It would still be something of yours.

something that no one could take away from them.

"We have to tell Daniëlle what we saw." Caro simply winked at you before leaving the locker room. Maybe you both should prepare for the inevitable big sister call that Daniëlle would make upon hearing the news.

#woso x reader #barca femeni #ingrid engen x reader #ingrid engen

149 notes · View notes

makeyoumine69 · 2 days ago

Text

Touch in the Night

𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆: Patrick Bateman x Fem!Reader

𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘: How gentle Patrick's touch feels when you know how rough he can be.

𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐒: NSFW, smut, Patrick is obsessed(as always), possessive behavior, unprotected p in v sex(doggy and vague prone bone), implied body worship, mentions of spanking, overstimulation and Patrick being sadistic, pet names, dirty talk.

𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃𝐒: <1k

𝐒𝐎𝐍𝐆 𝐑𝐄𝐂: Silent Circle — Touch in the Night🔥

𝐀/𝐍: Hello, everyone! This prompt won the poll, and I hope you like it! Many thanks to my dear @moriohpsyker for proofreading!💕

Please follow my writing community or my side-blog to know when I update!

You could hear the muffled rustle of wrinkled sheets and feel the mattress dip beneath your knees. You could feel his sweaty abs clinging to your ass each time he thrusts inside you. All of this had become too familiar—more than you could have ever imagined—to the point that you couldn’t tell where his nerves ended and yours began as you moved together in sync like a perfect mechanism, every detail inseparable and irreplaceable. It was both too much and not enough when it came to the both of you. Every time you had sex—or "make love", as you preferred to call it—you could easily get lost in the moment. You gave everything you had and were ready to make sacrifices or suppress pain when needed.

Because, in the end, it was always about pain.

You were willing to take it, to live through it, and to allow this man to destroy you, even if he could be gentle—you'd never expect or ask him to be, since you loved him the way he was. No less, no more. It was raw and sick, but this is how he made you feel, and you had nothing to be ashamed of. Not even in the moments when you should have been concerned or frightened; not even when Patrick wanted to draw some of your blood just to know how it tasted. Not even the moments when you thought it would be your last time having a sexual encounter with him.

Even when he thought it would be glorious if you died while he fucks you, saying some arrogant shit like: "Look at this whore choking to death on my fucking dick."

And you would thank him for degrading you because you accepted this man the way he was. Brutal, erratic, goofy, and insane sometimes.

But never really gentle.

However, everything changed one night when, while giving you rough, almost punishing backshots, he suddenly stopped and ducked down to kiss your shoulder blade and the dip in your back. You were left bewildered and shocked because you thought Patrick was incapable of showing tenderness.

Once again, he proved that he was a goddamn mystery who never ceased to surprise you.

"I thought you'd cry," he rasped, his voice tight as he spoke near your ear. "I thought you’d beg me to stop. I thought you’d break.”

Panting, he drove in, rough again, and your whole body launched forward.

"But then you took it. And you cummed so fast. And then you laid there and begged for more." Patrick grunted through clenched teeth.

You shook under him, gasping for air.

"Do you want to know what I really want, honey?" His hand was back on your ass, rubbing the spot he had spanked. "Do you want to know who I really am?"

Slowly, almost tortuously, he pulled out a little, then slammed into you again.

Hard. No warning. No easing in.

You screamed again, your back arching against him.

"I want you to fucking break," he hissed, darting his eyes down to where your bodies were connected. "I want to fuck the noise out of you."

"Please–"

"I want you hoarse by morning," Patrick groaned, thrusting deeper until he felt you clenching so hard that his vision blurred. "I want your throat to be sore from screaming into pillows."

You were panting so vocally—your voice was a mess. "You'll tear me."

"I want to."

With that, the man reached around and grabbed a fistful of your breast, squeezing hard enough to make you yelp. You were already flat on your elbows, your face smashed into the mattress and the sheets soaked at your thighs. With every thrust, you experienced a firestorm of overstimulation and soreness; your body couldn't tell if the ache was caused by pain or lust.

"I want to fuck you until you forget what it's like…" another harsh thrust punched the air out of your lungs, "...to not have me inside you."

It felt like there was no end to it all—his insatiable appetite for control, his need to dominate, and his cruel desire to inflict pain just to lick the wounds he left in his wake. There were moments when Patrick dismantled you just to rebuild you, again and again. His kisses trailed like fire across your neck. His fingers intertwined with yours tenderly. His weight draped over you like a warm, protective blanket.

Was it considered gentle enough for someone like him?

Whenever your moans became too loud, he was ready to cover them with his greedy mouth. But he was probably doing it mostly for himself, getting off on knowing how much you needed his comfort when he fucked you too hard. Unfortunately, Patrick would never tell you, but he found it addictive. He became obsessed with showering your body with all the physical affection he could muster. His lips, his mouth, his arms, his fingers—everything belonged to you. In the end, you held more power than you knew over this corrupt yuppie who insisted he had no soul.

That was until he met you.

Thank you for the reading!🖤 [MAIN M-LIST]🪓[MY IMAGINES ABOUT PATRICK]🪓[KO-FI]

#american psycho #patrick bateman x reader #patrick bateman imagine #patrick bateman #patrick bateman x female reader #patrick bateman x you #slasher x reader #slashers x reader #slasher x you #slasher smut #patrick bateman smut #patrick bateman headcanon #christian bale smut #christian bale x reader #patrick bateman reader #christian bale #patrick bateman imagines

103 notes · View notes

thenameswinter99 · 1 day ago

Text

NO PLEASE J I'M IN LOVEWKJFLSJKGFLBFDSJKGBDJKGBDFJKGBKFDJ

All this tooth rotting fluff, my heart can't bear this... I love Bucky, I love it with my whole heart and I love how you write him. You're a blessing of this fandom, I'll never stop telling you that.

Now, here's the part I loved, so see under the cut:

Truthfully, he hated the way his lips cracked, or how his hands were so dry they felt like sandpaper. He was a bit grumpier when the chill lingered in his body for way too long, and the cold made his joints ache a little bit more than usual.

YESSSS We love grumpy Bucky Barnes

The cold made Bucky feel like he was suffocating, it sent his mind back to the Cryostasis chamber. No matter how many times he had gone through it, it never got any easier. And it was the same every single time: His body was shaking from the shock treatments that had occurred only a few minutes prior — the tips of his fingers still zapping as electricity flowed through him — his brain had effectively been turned into mush. He couldn't think, couldn't speak, it was like had been living outside of his body. All he could do was watch as they strapped him into the chamber and shut the door.

MY POOR BUCKYYYYY GIVE HIM A FUCKING BREAK PLEASEEEEE (Already told you what I thought of this part)

HYDRA I SWEAR WHEN I CATCH YOU-

"Don't be so grumpy about it, Buck." [...] "I'm always grumpy."

SFKHNSDKJFSDLKJFSDKFLSDKJFHSD this dialogues made me fly, I love them so much.

"I'm not going back outside." "I guess I'll just go by myself then," you respond, your hand behind your back already on the doorknob. "I guess you will." "Alright, I'm going." "Okay, be safe," Bucky mutters, not moving from his spot. "I'll try my best." You turn the doorknob slowly, challenging Bucky with narrow eyes. When it's obvious he won't move and that he's testing you, you pull the door forward and disappear behind the door with a click.

Another funny and beautiful interaction that made me smile a lot

"Hey!" you whine. You know your hair is probably stuck to your forehead in a way that's simultaneously unattractive and crazy, but the look in Bucky's eyes? It's like you're the moon in the midnight sky and he's completely awestruck.

THIS LINEEEEEEE!! I melted. I love how he's helplessly in love with her, he has everything but heart eyes (and my heart is totally melted).

You were the greatest thing that had ever happened to Bucky, and he knew that. It kept him awake at night, when his hand would lightly trace the side of your face — only illuminated by the moonlight that leaked in from a window you always forgot to shut the blinds to. He didn't know how someone with as many ridged edges as himself found someone so … soft.

Me, crying for happiness because these lines are everything for me.

He's warm. He's in love. Somewhere in the distance the snow piles up, but the man in front of you isn't frozen anymore, he's as warm as the blood that pumps through his body — and he's content.

THE BEST LINES TO CONCLUDE A FLUFFY FIC OH MY GOD J I'M IN LOVEEEE

You're my favourite Bucky writer and I'll never stop saying this to you.

cold wind blows

pairing: bucky barnes x reader

summary: bucky hates the cold, you show him how enjoyable it is to warm up

word count: 3.2K

a/n: based on this request! it was definitely fun to write cold weather at the start of (almost) summer here. please enjoy this tooth rotting fluff!

Bucky despised the cold.

And like clockwork the season always changed, and each time it did he immediately felt the discomfort sitting on his chest.

Most of all, Bucky hated the emotional response he had when the temperature dropped. He could usually handle a small breeze, but an overnight drop in temperature was usually met unfavorably. You could tell when it was sinking into his bones by the perpetual furrowed eyebrow and a frown.

His body was shaking from the shock treatments that had occurred only a few minutes prior — the tips of his fingers still zapping as electricity flowed through him — his brain had effectively been turned into mush. He couldn't think, couldn't speak, it was like had been living outside of his body. All he could do was watch as they strapped him into the chamber and shut the door.

He always tried to take one last deep breath before it happened, before the cold took over and he was frozen until they needed him, but he was always too late.

Bucky was always mid-breath before it all stopped.

So now, even years later, when it was cold Bucky Barnes still couldn't catch his breath.

"They're calling for snow again tomorrow," you call out when you hear the front door open.

Bucky steps in, the heat instantly relieving his body from the freezing temperature outside. There's no response to your words, instead only the sound of boots stomping on the 'welcome' mat, snow that once peppered his hair and shoulders falling onto the ground — instantly melting. You can make out some grumbling and a curse or two as he hung up his coat.

He drags his feet as he heads in your direction — ready to say hello to his favorite person.

"Don't be so grumpy about it, Buck."

Bucky rounds the corner to find you sitting in the living room. The fireplace was lit, offering a source of light and heat as you wrapped yourself under a fuzzy blanket on the couch, the TV volume on low playing You've Got Mail softly in the background.

"I'm always grumpy."

You can see the small pout forming on his features as he gets closer, it almost made you melt.

"You've Got Mail again? That's the third time this week." Bucky asks, glancing at the TV for a half second before he sat down on the edge of the couch. You can feel the cushion dip under his weight and hear the sigh that leaves his lips, the tension from the day settling into his bones.

This was the time of the night where you got to assess Bucky for any damages from his mission. There was nothing too bad this time; only a small cut above his left eyebrow that had already stopped bleeding. He was home safe, that's all you really cared about.

Just as you assessed him, it was Bucky's turn to assess you. Your cheeks were still that familiar shade of pink and your eyes were a little heavy from the day, but all in all, still the same person he loved all in one piece. "Comfy?"

Bucky's hand raised to tuck a piece of your hair back before leaning down to press his lips against your forehead. Your eyes flutter close, your hand instinctively reaching out to rest on his thigh. His fingers grazed the side of your face, his skin is still icy from being outside. This is your favorite part of the day, the first few moments after not seeing each other for hours, where every touch whispered I missed you.

"There's nothing better than a comfort movie during a snowstorm," you remind him as he pulls away. "And I'm very comfy, thank you very much."

"I don't know how you manage to enjoy this weather," Bucky says, his fingers still tracing your cheek. "I'm counting down the days until this passes."

"I think you're focusing too much on the cold and not enough on all the ways to warm up."

Bucky scoffs, shaking his head at your words. You weren't wrong per se, but how could he focus on anything other than this extremely uncomfortable weather?

"I'm not, it's just everywhere. We go to bed at night and all I can feel is the air from that drafty window that I've tried to fix. I wake up in the morning and no matter how high the heat is set to, I feel like our house has turned into a chest freezer. And forget it, the second I walk outside my hand gets all red and my metal one cramps up."

You soothingly rub his thigh as he airs out his grievances. You were fully aware of the visceral reaction that this had on him, and it didn't make it any easier to know what he went through that triggered such memories.

"I know, I know," you assure him.

"Two more months of this is going to drive me up a wall."

Instead of responding, a brilliant idea pops into your head and you flip your blanket open, sitting up on the couch. Like most things with Bucky's recovery, sometimes you needed to show him things would be okay rather than tell him.

"Where are you going?" Bucky asks, raising his eyebrow.

"We're going back outside," you clarify as you maneuver around him to stand.

Bucky doesn't move, his eyes following you as you leave the living room, rounding the corner he had just appeared from; you never cease to surprise him.

"I'm not going outside," he calls out, though he knows there was no use in trying to argue. His fingers ran across the fabric of the couch, feeling the warmth of where you once laid. Deep down, he wishes he could pull you right back.

"Yes, you are," you call back as you slip on your boots. "Don't let me stand out there alone."

You pull on your jacket and your beanie, finally hearing Bucky shuffling over towards you. There's a scowl on his face and his arms are crossed over his chest, his biceps flexed under the long sleeve tee. He says your name — not in the cute whiny way he did sometimes when he wanted your attention. No, this time it was as if he wanted you to know he was serious.

"I'm not going back outside."

"I guess I'll just go by myself then," you respond, your hand behind your back already on the doorknob.

"I guess you will."

"Alright, I'm going."

"Okay, be safe," Bucky mutters, not moving from his spot.

"I'll try my best."

You turn the doorknob slowly, challenging Bucky with narrow eyes. When it's obvious he won't move and that he's testing you, you pull the door forward and disappear behind the door with a click.

Fuck its cold you think to yourself as the wind hits you immediately. You make your way over to the porch swing, clearing off the snow that accumulated before sitting down. You had a point to prove though, and you weren't going to back down now.

Maybe it was tough love that Bucky needed — not that you ever pushed him too far out of his comfort zone though. But, something like this? You were confident that if you couldn't change his mind, you could at least ease it, show him the joys of life.

Although, it didn't help that you and Bucky could both be a bit stubborn.

You could already picture him standing behind the front door, his arms still crossed over his chest as he waited for you to make your way back inside. You chuckled to yourself at the thought, you weren't leaving until he joined you — even if it killed you. Which, with your teeth chattering and your hands shaking, didn't seem like it would take that long.

The hinges of the door creak as they swing open, the sound of Bucky's boots crunching against the ground filling your ears. You turn your head in his direction, a smile immediately lighting up your features as you see him bundled up in his coat. His hands are tucked inside of his pocket, the scowl still imprinted on his face — sometimes you thought it was permanent.

"You know," Bucky mumbles as he approaches you, groaning as he sits down on the swing, his thigh pressed against yours. "Whatever this plan of yours is, it better be worth it."

You laugh crosses your lips as you nudge his side with your elbow, his coat ruffling as he takes his hand out of his pocket to wrap his arm around your shoulder, pulling you closer to him.

It's dark out, save for street lamps that cascade their light onto the newly snowy ground. To you, it's a beautiful sight to see all the flakes fall and accumulate, but you can feel how tense Bucky is next to you while he innately flexes his metal hand.

"It will be."

"Tell me, does your plan include letting me freeze to death?"

"You're so dramatic," you tease, elbowing his ribs as you lift your chin up to look at him. "I figured if you can brave the cold for a few minutes then I can show you the good that comes with getting out of it. Do you trust me?"

Bucky looks down at you for a moment, tracing over your features as he feels the cold seep into his bones. In addition to the natural flush of your cheeks, the tip of your nose has turned a shade of pink and your bottom lip is quivering. He hates to admit that sitting here and focusing on you is taking his mind off of how his body wants to completely shut down — something he hasn't been able to do before.

He does his best not to focus on how his metal hand feels compressed, like each little grove is frozen in place, or the way his throat feels like it's starting to constrict. Instead, he focuses on you and the way you press against him as the only source of warmth, and comfort, he has for the time being.

"Of course I do."

The two of you turn your heads and sit in silence, trying your best not to think about the cold wind or the fluttering snowflakes.

Finally, after a few minutes of silence, you stand, holding your hand out for Bucky and nodding your head over towards the front door so the two of you could head back inside.

"Mm, I was starting to think you were going to keep us out there for good," he teased, his figure towering over yours as he stands. He playfully pinches your side before grabbing your hand and intertwining your fingers together, tugging you along.

The warmth of the house hits you as soon as the door opens, both you and Bucky letting out an audible sigh as you step inside. Snow piles up as your boots stomp on the 'welcome' mat again, jackets sliding off your shoulders as you try to get all of your gear off.

"I'll take that," Bucky says as he snatches your beanie off the top of your head.

His free hand lifts up to ruffle your hair hearing you whine once more. You loved how different he was at home with you, how he could let his guard down and not be so alert at every moment. There weren't many times that Bucky felt like he could be truly free — but with you? It was never a question.

"Now what?"

"Now, we warm up," you state matter-of-factly.

Bucky wants to ask, he wants to pick your brain and know exactly what's going on in that big, beautiful head of yours, but he's cut short. He watches as you pivot from where the two of you are standing and head towards the stairs, ascending two at a time until you reach the top.

It doesn't compute in Bucky's brain what you're doing. He hears the thumping sound of your feet against the hardwood floor then the sound of a door opening, immediately followed by the trickling of water.

Of course, a hot shower.

He shakes his head as he ascends the stairs next, noticing your discarded clothes now littered the hallway. You were always causing trouble, and he never wanted to stop chasing it.

The bathroom is already filled with steam by the time he steps in, and Bucky strips down to his boxers after he closes the door behind him. Despite how badly he wanted to just be with you, the feeling of the warm humidity of the shower has him already melting from the inside out.

"You're trouble," he says, opening the shower door and finally sliding his last piece of clothing off.

Bucky tries immediately to find you, but the second he steps under the hot running water he's brought to a sense of relaxation he could only describe as euphoric. His eyes close and a soft groan leaves his lips, that chill inside of him beginning to thaw out.

If he's completely honest? He forgets you're there with him for a split second, his head bowing so the water can hit the back of his neck. It's not until he feels your hands running up his arms does he remember he's not alone. When you wrap your arms around his neck, he envelops you, pressing you against his chest as his forehead drops onto your shoulder.

Bucky breathes in your scent — he can't pinpoint exactly what it is, but he knows it's something sweet, something that reminds him of him — as he holds you close.

Neither of you speak, instead letting the water trickle down your bodies and onto the tile floor in complete silence.

The moment isn't sexual either, there's no attempts by either one of you to initiate anything further, because this wasn't about want, or need, it was about safety. Even as you comb your hands through his now wet hair and as he runs he trails his fingers up and down your spine, this was only about healing.

He never wanted to question it though, if it was luck or a higher power, then so be it.

Soon you help him clean up, holding him carefully as you lather his body with soap. Carefully using the shower head to wash off the day and any remaining bits of cold that clung to him.

By the time the two of you were clean and dressed (both of you in some form of Bucky's sweatpants and tee since they were your favorite to steal), you could see the sleepiness begin to take over.

"You should lay down," you say, combing his hair as he brushes his teeth — barely able to keep his eyes open or head up.

"Mm, not tired yet," he mumbles, though the words are hard to make out.

"Liar."

Bucky makes a noise that's a mix of a scoff and a laugh before he rinses his mouth, turning to face you afterwards. You can tell that he's exhausted, but that there's also a new sense of ease

"How about you," you start, grabbing the waistband of his sweatpants to pull him in closer. "Go lay down in bed, and I'll make us some hot chocolate, and we'll throw on a movie?"

"Will it be You've Got Mail for the fourth time?"

"Is that a yes?"

Bucky's lips curl into a smile then he leans down and presses a kiss to the side of your face, right on your temple. Once. Twice. Three times.

"Fine, yes."

He turns on his heels and heads back down the hall, looking over his shoulder to get one last look at you; even from a distance you can see the way his eyes shine when they meet yours. He gives you a quick wink before he disappears into the bedroom and you make your way downstairs to the kitchen.

When you return, two cups of steaming hot chocolate in your hands, you find Bucky laying down under the covers. His eyes are closed and there's a lazy, sleepy smile on his face that makes your heart melt.

Bucky opens one eye as he hears you shuffle in, running a hand through his damp hair as he sits up on the bed, resting his back against a pillow. He holds out his hands to grab the mugs from you, waiting until you're situated in the bed next to him to hand yours back, his free arm then wrapping around your torso to pull you in closer; just like he did on the porch.

"Cheers," he says.

"Cheers," you respond, taking a sip of your drink afterwards.

You can feel the way that Bucky is melting next to you, every ounce of tension that once was there had left his body. He was actually enjoying himself.

Bucky's head is turned away from yours, he's staring in the direction of the window — the same one neither of you remember to close the blinds to. It's still snowing, heavily actually, you're sure both of you will need to shovel in the morning, but Bucky doesn't seem bothered by it.

Right now the cold doesn't seem to sit on his chest, and maybe one day it will again. Maybe it won't always be this easy to forget what he went through, but right here and now? With you? He could see how easy it was to like this, to embrace the cold. Bucky takes another sip of his drink and gives your side a squeeze.

"I hate that you were right." He's teasing, of course he was.

"Aren't you nice and comfortable now?"

"Oh, I am extremely comfortable. Might even fall asleep just like this," he mutters, leaning his head against yours — a yawn escaping his lips. "You spoil me."

"I'm only trying to show you that you're allowed to enjoy yourself."

"Exactly. I'm spoiled rotten."

You sink further against him as you take another sip of your drink, Bucky had already finished his in a few quick sips, placing it on his bedside table, now opting to bury his face in your hair. He closes his eyes once more.

He's warm. He's in love. Somewhere in the distance the snow piles up, but the man in front of you isn't frozen anymore, he's as warm as the blood that pumps through his body — and he's content.

#wintersficrec #bucky barnes x reader #shoutout to my talented moots #my beloved j 💜#my sweetheart 💜

528 notes · View notes

bitters-n-sweets · 2 days ago

Text

if you'll let me — james "bucky" barnes x fem!reader Bucky revisits someone he wronged years ago. Will you take him back?

warnings: this is probably signs of a toxic relationship but it’s bucky—i can’t say no to him a/n: I’m trying something new here 😅 bear with me masterlist

Bucky’s hand is sweating through the brown paper wrap of the flowers. Like a rookie. Like this is prom and not a fucking apology he’s years too late to give. His brain, usually pretty good at calculating odds—how many enemies, how many exits, how many bullets left—is nothing but white noise now. Because this? This is a losing game.

He doesn’t know what he’s doing. All he knows is that he owes you. A conversation. An apology. A thousand things he should’ve said instead of ghosting like a fucking coward.

The walk to your building feels like being skinned alive. That café? The one with the bagels you made him pretend to like? Still there. Still smells like cinnamon, and now like regret.

He half-expects the building to reject him on principle. Like brick and mortar could hold a grudge. He jogs up the stairs and rings the bell and raises the flowers to cover the peephole like a fucking idiot. Because yes, hiding behind flowers is the mature move here.

Shuffle. Pause. You’re definitely home.

“You know, it’s kinda stupid to think I’d open the door when I can’t even see your face.”

Your voice. Fuck. He forgot how sharp it could cut.

He lowers the bouquet. Slowly.

“It’s me.”

Silence.

Then the door opens. Just a crack. Enough to make him want to kneel.

“You’ve got a lot of nerve.”

“I know.” He sounds hoarse, like his throat forgot how to function. “Just… let me explain. Please.”

He holds the flowers out like a peace treaty. You eye them like they’re cursed but snatch them anyway, stepping back just enough to let him in.

Your apartment’s different. Smells like sage now, or maybe stress. New couch. New rug. But the mess? That’s you. That’s the kind of chaos he used to feel safe in.

His eyes find the bear. The stupid little stuffed animal he won you on a first date that wasn’t even supposed to be a date.

“You kept this?”

“Yeah.” You don’t even look at him.

God, he forgot how fucking direct you are.

“So, what are you doing here, Buck?”

The nickname hits different when you say it. He grips the bear like it might anchor him.

“I came to apologize.”

You cross your arms. Defensive. Daring him to try something.

“For leaving—”

“You mean years ago?” You raise an eyebrow like you’re doing him a favor by not throwing him out already.

“Yes. I know I took too long—”

“Okay. You done?” You sound bored. Like you’ve been through this scene in your head a thousand times and you’re unimpressed by the real thing.

“What? No.” He steps forward, panic bubbling up. “Look, doll—”

Your eyes flash. “Oh, no. You don’t get to call me that.”

“You’re angry. I get it—”

You throw him a fork.

He dodges it. Barely.

A Spoon. Knife.

Jesus Christ, it’s a fucking cutlery storm in here.

“—But I just—” He’s stepping in, catching each projectile with his supersoldier grace.

“You done?” you snap, about to throw your cast iron skillet at him.

He catches your wrist mid-swing, breath ragged. His grip is gentle, but it holds.

“You didn’t deserve what I did to you. I was in a dark place, and I made you carry it with me. That wasn’t fair. None of it was.”

You yank your arm back. He lets you go. You stare at him. Exhausted. Something in your chest untangling just slightly.

Then you sigh.

“I hate you.”

It’s not dramatic. It’s not screamed. It’s worse—it’s quiet. The kind of hate that’s bone-deep and tired. The kind that’s been growing like mold under your ribs for years.

Bucky doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t fight it. His gaze drops like he’s trying to disappear into the floor. Yeah. He deserves that.

“You left in the middle of the night.” Your voice wobbles, but you keep going. “Didn’t even block me. Just ignored every single fucking message. Left me on read. I thought you were dead.”

That breaks on a sob you try—and fail—to swallow.

“And then I saw you on TV.” You laugh, but it’s got no joy in it. “All alive and well and Captain fucking America-adjacent. And I almost wished you weren’t.”

There it is. That part’s real and ugly. You didn’t want to hate him. You really didn’t. But he made it easy. He left you with ghosts and silence and the imagination of him, only available through a fucking TV screen.

And now?

Now the tears are coming, and you can’t stop them. Doesn’t matter how strong you thought you’d be, how many versions of this conversation you’ve practiced in your head. Doesn’t matter that you swore he’d never get the satisfaction of seeing you cry.

Because he’s looking at you like he means it. The apology. The guilt. The pain. All of it is right there in his stupid eyes, and it’s so much worse because you can’t tell if it’s real or just another performance. You want to believe it. And God, that’s the most dangerous part. You still want him.

Because he’s your Bucky.

Because he’s always been your Bucky.

Because even after he left, even after he gutted you and vanished into the shadows, he still lingered. You felt him. You saw him. Thought he was being slick, lurking in reflections, keeping to the edges like some post-war Batman. But you knew. Of course you fucking knew.

And you didn’t say anything.

Because if you had?

He would’ve left for real.

So you let him haunt you.

You let him watch.

You let yourself pretend that was enough.

But it wasn’t. Because he never gave you a choice. He decided, for both of you, that silence was mercy. That distance was protection. That vanishing was love.

And now here he is, standing in your kitchen like a dog who found his way home and expects to be kicked. And what the fuck are you supposed to do with that?

“So what do you want, Buck?”

Bucky’s not even sure he’s allowed to stand at the moment. He takes small steps towards you, who’s facing away from him, trying to hide your tears even though he knows you’re crying just from how your shoulders tremble.

His non-metal arm tests the water, grazing your shoulder with his fingers. And you twitch, but not enough for him to back away.

“I’m sorry.” He says again in a whisper. Arms slowly enveloping you as you sob, back leaning against him.

“I’m so sorry.” He kisses your shoulder.

Then turns you around, kissing from your collarbone up to your neck and cheek. “Doll—I—”

He swallows. “I… I don’t deserve you. I know I don’t. I don’t deserve a second chance. But if you’ll let me…”

You look at him with tears blurring your vision.

“I think about you. Every day. Your laugh. The way you’d leave the cabinets open just to mess with me. The sound of your voice when you said my name like I was something good. Something worth it.”

His breath shakes. “I left because I thought love meant keeping you safe from me. From the weight I carry. From the things I can’t ever undo. But all I did was hurt you.”

His hands tremble against your arms. “And if there’s even the smallest part of you that still believes in what we had… let me try. Not today. Not tomorrow. I’ll wait. I’ll earn it. Just… don’t shut the door at me.”

He leans his forehead against yours. Voice barely a whisper now. “Because I never stopped loving you. And I don’t think I ever will.”

It would be so easy to shove him away. To tell him it’s too late. To guard your heart like you swore you would. But the thing is—you already let him back in the second you opened that door. Even if you didn’t want to admit it.

Your hand lifts. Finds his jaw. Fingers brushing his scruff.

“Don’t make me regret this,” you say.

His eyes snap to yours, wide and stunned. Like he didn’t dare hope you’d actually say yes.

“I won’t,” he breathes. “I swear—I won’t.”

You nod once. You won’t pretend this is going to be easy, like everything is fixed because it’s not. You’re rebuilding. You’re just… trying. Together.

“…Can I kiss you?” He looks at you, his eyes begging. “Please.”

You answer by closing the space between you, hand fisting his shirt as you kiss him gently at first. And it quickly becomes hungry, because it’s been so long. You’re both breathing hard by the time he presses you back against the kitchen counter, his forehead resting against yours, lips swollen and eyes glassy.

“I missed you, Bucky.” You admit.

“Me too, doll.” He kisses your tears away. “Me too.”

#bucky x reader #bucky x you #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #james bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x fem reader #bucky barnes x female reader #bucky x fem reader #bucky x female reader

67 notes · View notes

murderbot-moodboard · 2 days ago

Text

I've made good progress on moving out of my apartment, but my body is currently hating me for it, so I'm awake and you're getting some more thoughts about episode 6.

Something I noticed about episode 6 was how relatable all the characters felt to me throughout the episode. (Even LeeBeeBee's motives were understandable on some level, even if I disagreed with them and wouldn't make the same choices right now, who knows if I would make some of the same choices if I'd lived her life.) I don't think they were necessarily more relatable than in previous episodes, but rather that I noticed because the situations they were dealing with were extreme, and they were all having understandable human reactions to them. The way Mensah acted while performing surgery on Murderbot, steeling herself to do something hard and unpleasant by muttering and vocalizing and wincing the whole time, is exactly how I (and I think many or most people) deal with that type of task. (You know, the type you can't totally dissociate from by thinking about Star Trek characters, or partially dissociate from by pretending you're a Starfleet officer gathering samples of alien plants on a planet. Something many or most people would also do, of course.)

And the way the rest of Preservation Aux reacted to LeeBeeBee's sudden violent death was also relatable. I've never been in a situation quite like that, thankfully, but if I were, I think there's an equal chance I could have any of their responses to it. I just think it really speaks to the good writing, acting, and directing that all of the humans felt realistically human, not like they were reacting a certain way just because it was convenient for the plot.

I also think it's interesting how this episode means that in this alternate universe, it's no longer true that Ratthi has never seen Murderbot kill anyone up close (and Murderbot wants to keep it that way). I wonder if the writers thought about that specifically when writing this part, because Ratthi's extreme gut reaction (pun intended) to violence feels completely believable for his character. This change also introduces an interesting dynamic to Ratthi's relationship to Murderbot that we didn't see in the books as such, so I'm really looking forward to finding out how Ratthi reacts to Murderbot after this and whether he still wants to try to understand Murderbot (as he mistakenly thought he understood it before).

The episode really walked an interesting and difficult tonal line, balancing both the comedy and the horror. To me, when Gurathin said, "Now that she no longer has a head!" it struck me as the punch line to an awful dark joke that I wanted to laugh at, but I felt a touch of guilt for considering laughing about it. That sort of describes the whole mood of that part of the episode, and a little bit of the earlier parts as well. We're given insight into one of Murderbot's favorite Sanctuary Moon episodes, which has a ridiculously implausible plot which is simultaneously sad, and yet it's the episode Murderbot finds soothing. There's a discordant disconnect between the values it's learned as property in the Corporation Rim and the values Preservation Aux hold without always understanding why anyone would think differently. Murderbot itself is a contradiction—a killing machine who wants to protect its clients, and a person who denies its need for or interest in connection while still demonstrating how much it actually cares. The jarring aspects of the episode feel appropriate for the way they show cognitive dissonance forming in all the main cast: cognitive dissonance that threatens their ability to trust each other (and for Murderbot to trust itself).

So, basically, I think this episode was supposed to feel like a wakeup call, reminding both Preservation Aux and us the viewers who Murderbot actually is. How everything plays out now will depend a lot on the leadership of Mensah, and I'm looking forward to seeing what happens next.

#murderbot tv #murderbot #preservation aux #murderbot spoilers #murderbot 1x06 #murderbot meta #you may be able to tell I'm now falling asleep as I write this

68 notes · View notes

cakesunflower · 6 hours ago

Text

lovelorn (and nobody knows) [rafe cameron au fic] chapter 23

Summary: Isla Carrera had planned for the summer before college to be focused on three things: helping out at her family’s restaurant (the helpful daughter), preparing for college (the good student), and having fun with the Pogues (the loyal friend). But one fateful night, where her car breaks down and her rescuer is none other than Rafe Cameron, seems to send her summer down a path she didn’t see coming–one teeming with a secret, illicit romance with the last person she expected. And if her friends and sister found out, Isla isn’t sure they’ll be so understanding, no matter what her feelings are.

A/N: oh my good lord i am sooo sorry for how long it's taken for me to update this i've been down the pitt/mohabbot rabbit hole and im still there but i got out long enough to write this chapter oh boy oh boy im sorry

When Rafe feels someone come stand next to him at the bar, the last person he expects for it to be is John B.

Rafe leans against the bar on his elbow, waiting for one of the bartenders to get their drinks, when John B joins his side. But while Rafe’s pose remains at ease, he can just sense the tension in John B’s body as he leans forward with his arms crossed on the bar. Rafe arches an eyebrow at him but doesn’t say anything, easily noticing the tic in John B’s jaw, his gaze ahead since he doesn’t look at Rafe just yet.

Things felt civil enough when he and Isla had arrived; he and John B hadn’t shook hands or anything, but it was still progress, in Rafe’s opinion. The fact of the matter is, Rafe doesn’t give a shit about the old Kook versus Pogue mentality that he had lived in for years, not when having that kind of thought process would mean he would lose Isla. She’s far more important to him than old rivalries, and he’s more than ready to move past them and make nice with her—and, in turn, his sister’s—friends if it meant the stress would fall off Isla.

So, instead of running his mouth and antagonizing the situation like his old self would, Rafe simply quietly, and patiently, waits for John B to speak first.

It doesn’t take him long.

“You get it, right, why it’s been hard for us to accept Isla and. . . You,” John B says, speaking haltingly like he was trying to find the right words as he drags his gaze to Rafe’s.

Briefly pressing his tongue to the roof of his mouth, Rafe exhales sharply through his nose. “I get why you guys have a hard time looking past our shit history. I don’t get how it was easy for you to ice Isla out like that,” Rafe replies. He’s trying to be civil, he really is. But then he thinks of how heartbroken Isla has been, how many tears she has shed, and Rafe is filled with the primal, visceral urge to protect her from anything and anyone that could even potentially hurt her. And whatever his history with the Pogues, he hates that her own friends had been the ones to inflict that kind of pain on her.

Though, it’s not surprising. It’s the people you love the most that have the greatest potential to hurt you.

John B’s jaw works and Rafe can tell he’s frustrated. “It wasn’t easy,” John B argues, and when Rafe’s expression remains unconvinced, John B lets out a huff. “It wasn’t,” he insists, his spine straightening. Rafe still has a few inches on him. On all of them, really. “I—Look, it’s not right how we reacted. I know that. But we all just felt. . . Blindsided by your relationship, alright? With everything in our past, none of us really understood why you of all people.”

If Rafe had thinner skin, he’d be more insulted by John B’s words. He won’t lie to himself—it does sting a bit that her friends took one look at his relationship with Isla and immediately wrote it off simply because of him. He gets it and, not for the first time, he regrets all of the shit that has gone down between him and Isla’s friends. The unnecessary fights, provocations, the put-downs. Sure, it was all mutual, each side dishing an equal amount, but it certainly doesn’t gain Rafe any brownie points with the Pogues.

“But—” John B continues, pulling Rafe out of his thoughts as he takes a look at the other guy. John B fiddles the sleeve of his suit jacket, his jaw working. “I miss Isla. We all do. We’re not us without her.”

Rafe shakes his head, releasing an almost disbelieving chuckle. “She’s right there, man,” he says, vaguely gesturing in the direction where she sits with Sarah. “She’s been waiting for you all to get over it, or at the very least, fucking talk to her instead of shutting her out.” He thanks the bartender who places their drinks in front of them, and Rafe pushes one of the glasses towards John B, who looks at the glass briefly before lifting his gaze to meet Rafe’s pointed one. “If you all miss her as much as you’re saying, then do something about it.” Rafe grabs two of the glasses, while John B also takes the one for Sarah. “And, for shit’s sake, get JJ to take back that stupid ultimatum. Get through to him, will you?”

It pisses him off just thinking about it and based on the radio silence Isla has been facing from JJ, Rafe has no doubt he was serious about giving Isla those choices. He has seen the way it weighs on Isla even if she tries to push it away with smiles that don’t quite reach her eyes always. Rafe knows all of her smiles, each of them beautiful in their own way, but it hurts to see the sadness in that specific smile—the one she forces because the pain of her strained relationship with her friends makes her hold back.

“Yeah,” John B responds with a sigh, nodding when Rafe eyes him. “Yeah, I’ll talk to him. All of ’em.”

Rafe nods stiffly. While he’s glad that John B will finally get their group to get their heads out of their asses, he’s still a little annoyed that John B didn’t do it already—that it took a conversation with Rafe to kick his ass into gear. Maybe he just needed to see Rafe and Isla together to realize they aren’t fucking around, that their relationship has nothing to do with her friends, and make John B see the truth of it. Whatever. He wishes they just listened to Isla, took her word for it.

He and John B return to the table and Rafe isn’t surprised that Isla and Sarah are eyeing them both curiously, a touch of worry in Isla’s green eyes. Rafe gives her a reassuring smile as they approach them, setting the glasses down on the table as he returns to his seat next to her.

Isla’s hand finds his knee, leaning closer as she whispers, “Everything okay?”

“Yeah,” he tells her truthfully with a smile. “All good, baby.” He takes her hand that’s on his knee and laces their fingers together, feeling her relax under his touch. Rafe presses a kiss to the back of her hand and is relieved to see the smile that curves at her lips, leaning into him more as Rafe mirrors her smile.

From behind her, he sees John B watching them. Rafe sees the smile on the other man’s face and he takes it as a sign that things between Isla and her friends will be looking up.

Cocktail hour passes uneventfully, with Rafe and sometimes Sarah having to make the rounds as Ward’s kids—plus, there are plenty of people here Rafe works with, too. He doesn’t drag Isla around with him and often catches sight of her talking to John B, the two of them far more relaxed with one another as the night progresses. They all have dinner together once the welcoming and keynote speeches are done, and as the tables are being cleared away, John B excuses himself to go to the bathroom.

Sarah is pulled into a conversation with someone Rafe vaguely recognizes and Isla turns in her seat to face him. Rafe mirrors her position to face her as well, legs parted to make space for her, his arms resting on his thighs as his back hunches forward a bit, looking up at her. Not for the first time, he’s struck by how stunning she is, effortlessly so. The dress brings out her green eyes, fitting her perfectly, and his blood thrums with the desperate need to peel it off of her, run his fingers along every dip and curve of her body that he already knows intimately well.

“It’s going well, I’d say,” Isla quips with a smile dancing at the edge of her lips as she looks down at him, as she sits with perfect posture and he’s leaned down, weight on his arms resting on his thighs.

“What is?” he asks with a tilt of his head.

Her smile widens a bit, showing off dimples he’s brushed his fingers along countless times already. It’s a breath of fresh air, every time he sees her smile. Drives him crazy. “You and John B being in the same room,” she tells him quietly, like it’s a secret between the two of them. “I’m glad you two decided not to give me and Sarah heart burn.”

“Anythin’ for our ladies, I guess,” Rafe replies with a teasing grin, fingers idly running up and down the length of her calves, one of them exposed thanks to the delicious slit of her dress.

Isla huffs out a laugh, her jewelry glimmering under the lights. “What were you two talking about? At the bar?” she asks curiously, fingers idly playing with his tie.

“He told me how he missed you,” Rafe tells her truthfully, watching as Isla’s eyes widen slightly. It kills him, a little, at the idea that that’s so surprising to her. “They all miss you. And I told him there’s a very easy way to fix this, and that he should just talk to the rest of your friends because everything about this is stupid.”

Her lips tremble with the effort of suppressing her laugh, shaking her head as her gaze softens, fond and warm. “I appreciate it,” she says and the way her eyes shine, Rafe knows she means it.

Rafe smiles, giving into the urge to kiss her as he leans towards her, only to be interrupted by Sarah coming to stand next to their chairs. “Hey, sorry,” Sarah says, getting both of their attention as they look up at her. Sarah shoots Rafe a concerned look, and it has his back straightening. “I—John B went to the bathroom a while ago and hasn’t come back. Can you go check?”

Rafe blinks. “You want me to check in on your boyfriend. . . In the bathroom?” he asks slowly, face scrunching up.

Sarah bounces from one leg to another. “I saw Topper head in that direction and I—just—can you please?”

Rafe runs his tongue along his teeth, suddenly understanding Sarah’s apprehension. He wouldn’t put it past Topper to corner John B in the bathroom and, frankly, Rafe is pretty sure John B can hold his own. But then he sees Sarah’s, and now Isla’s, worried expressions, and he’s on his feet without much thought. “I’ll check,” he tells them, earning grateful smiles from them both before he turns to walk out of the hall.

He smooths down his tie as he strides out of the room, leaving the party behind as he heads towards the bathrooms. Rafe’s jaw works at the idea of what he might be walking into, though he has a pretty good idea if Topper did, in fact, go to the bathrooms to confront John B, what Rafe is about to see. Topper, it seems, doesn’t know when to quit, and while Rafe didn’t bat an eye when they were friends, it pisses him off now.

Especially when he opens the door to the men's room and sees, unsurprisingly, Topper getting up in John B’s face.

Rafe’s voice is casual as he says, “Any closer and you’ll be kissin’ him, Top.” John B’s gaze meets his around Topper as the bathroom door swings shut behind Rafe. “What the hell are you doing?”

Topper doesn’t turn to look at him. “Nothing we haven’t done before, man,” he answers, his gaze no doubt fixed on John B. It’d be a bet Rafe wins, he knows, as he stares at the back of Topper’s blond head. “What, you here to defend your new friend?” he asks with a sneer that has Rafe rolling his eyes.

Rafe tilts his head slightly. There’s no one else in the bathroom, as far as he can tell. “No. I’m here to make sure you don’t get your ass kicked which, honestly, I don’t really give much of a shit about. But if I were you, I’d back up.”

He notes the tension lining Topper’s shoulders under his suit jacket before he takes a step away from John B and turns to face Rafe. “What, are you two besties now? You’re gonna defend him?” Topper tilts his head. “Weren’t you the one who said he wasn’t good enough for your sister or your family?”

Rafe doesn’t wince or flinch at the words he had spoken in the past being thrown back in his face. Frankly, he has said worse things to John B’s face. Behind Topper, John B doesn’t look upset, either. Whatever Topper’s goal was, he misses it as Rafe levels a flat stare at him. “Yeah, and I also said I’d prefer Sarah dating you over him.” Rafe shrugs, the picture of nonchalance. “Clearly, I said a lot of shit I was wrong about.”

That, he notices, takes John B by surprise a bit, his eyebrows rising behind Topper. But Rafe is being honest—now that he knows how much Sarah loves John B, and how much that love is returned, he regrets ever questioning their relationship. Now that he has Isla in his life and has gotten a taste of the kind of happiness that comes from being with someone you know, deep in your bones, you are meant to be with, Rafe would never want that to be taken away from his sister.

He thinks he might go crazy if it was taken away from him.

“Unbelievable,” Topper laughs as he gapes at Rafe, bewildered and mocking as he walks over to him. “You’ve become one of them now, is that it? You fuck a Pogue long enough and you turn into one?” His smile is more of a sneer. “Just like your sister, huh?”

Ice freezes over Rafe’s blood as his temper simmers, a protective sort of rage seeping through him. His voice stays eerily steady as he says, “Better watch your mouth, Top. I don’t think John B or I take it too well when people talk about our girls like that.”

He sees how that triggers, so to speak, Topper. The idea of Rafe accepting John B as Sarah’s boyfriend, even though they’ve been together for a year, pisses Topper off, clearly. His jaw clenches, eyes narrowing with fists curling at his sides. And maybe the guy is stupider than Rafe could see before, because he steps up to Rafe, obviously trying to be intimidating and falling short. Rafe would laugh, if it weren’t for Topper musing, “Maybe I should get myself a Pogue.” He flicks the front of Rafe’s tie, widening his eyes in feigned wonder. “Hey, you think Isla would be interested in taking turns? Maybe I can see what the hype’s about, since Sarah’s been pretty used throu—”

It was Topper’s own fault, really, for thinking he’d be able to finish that sentence without taking a hit.

The adrenaline numbs Rafe to the pain in his knuckles right after it collides with Topper’s jaw. The blond stumbles back and John B locks his arms around him, pinning Topper’s own arms to the side as he struggles and thrashes against John B’s grip, but it’s tight and unrelenting. John B’s expression is hard, lips curled in a sneer as he prevents Topper from swinging back at Rafe.

Topper’s lip is bleeding, his teeth having cut it upon Rafe’s fist’s impact, and Rafe steps towards him, flexing his fingers and feeling the tension and sting as he grips the lapels of Topper’s suit jacket. He sees the anger in Topper’s blue eyes, the curl of his bleeding lip as he’s forced to still in his struggle. Rafe easily towers over him and a primal sort of satisfaction rushes through him at the flicker of fear in Topper’s eyes, rearing back as far as he can, but John B is right there, not giving him much room to cower.

Rafe’s voice is dangerously low, the intent to put Topper’s head through a wall loudly clear in his tone. “Let’s get one thing clear, Thornton—I’m sick of you actin’ as if you’re owed something by everyone. You walk around picking fights with people you think have fucked you over, but you’re only embarrassing yourself.” Rafe’s grip on Topper’s jacket tightens, his blood boiling and pulse rapidly firing. “If you ever think about Isla and Sarah again, I’m going to ruin your fucking life. You won’t be able to show your face in the entire state if you keep this bullshit up. Not even your judge grandpa will be able to save you. You fucking get me?”

Indignation swims in Topper’s eyes, staring at Rafe as if he’s never seen him before. “You’re throwing away seventeen years of friendship for—”

“Yeah,” Rafe says tightly, not bothering to let Topper finish. “I am.”

He lets go of him then, his gaze meeting John B’s behind Topper, who waits a beat before he lets Topper go. Topper shoves away, straightening himself and his suit jacket out, his gaze never straying from Rafe. A trickle of blood leaks from the corner of Topper’s mouth, his perfectly styled hair in slight disarray, which makes Rafe feel more satisfied than it should.

He stares at Topper, though, and Rafe can feel their near two decade long friendship crumbling between them. Topper’s been his longest, oldest friend; they’ve known each other since pre-school, have made countless memories together, raised plenty of hell. Rafe knows that things have been shifting between them as he was becoming more familiar with his feelings for Isla, as the two of them started going out. The whole Kooks versus Pogues mentality seems so far away to him now, and he wishes that the same could be said for Topper.

But it’s abundantly clear that while Rafe has started a new chapter in his life, Topper has fallen far behind.

And it hurts, if he’s being honest, to see their friendship implode. But Rafe also isn’t going to let Topper get away with the shit he spews about his girlfriend and sister. The friendship, despite its longevity, isn’t worth that.

Topper pulls out his handkerchief from the pocket of his jacket, glaring at Rafe as he wipes at the blood on his face. “You’ve lost your damn mind,” he mutters with a shake of his head, moving to walk past him. He throws him and John B another dirty look, sharper towards John B and—more hurt towards Rafe, who swallows down the tightness in his throat. “Fuck this.”

He storms out, the door falling shut behind him, and the bathroom is left in a tense silence. Rafe runs his tongue along his teeth, fingers once again flexing at his side as he looks down at them, taking in the harsh redness already forming where the skin broke a bit. Slowly, the tension seeps out of his muscles—very slowly, and the silence of the bathroom is broken when John B speaks up.

“Didn’t see that coming,” he says idly, straightening the front of his shirt and suit jacket as well.

Rafe exhales roughly through his nose. “It was a long time coming,” he corrects with a mutter as he looks at him. He looks fine, but Rafe still asks, “You good, man?”

There’s a flicker of surprise in John B’s dark eyes before it disappears and he nods. “Yeah, I’m alright.” His gaze dips to Rafe’s hand. “What about you? Might need to ice that hand.”

“I’ll live,” Rafe says with a short chuckle before he lifts his chin. The air shifts, not as tense, but he still looks John B in the eye and asks meaningfully, “We good?”

John B stares at him for a beat before he lets out a breath as well, the corners of his lips tipping up in an accepting smile. “Yeah, man, we’re good.”

Rafe nods, feeling more relieved than he anticipated, and he and John B leave the bathroom to head back to the party. He doesn’t look to see where Topper scurried off to as he and John B head back to the table. Rafe’s knuckles aren’t bleeding, but they are a bit raw, and he doesn’t have a hope in hiding it because the second they near the table where Isla and Sarah are sitting, his girlfriend immediately clocks the injury.

“What happened?” she asks, alarmed but hushed as she gets to her feet, her hands immediately grasping his—gingerly, her fingers holding his as she looks at the raw knuckles with concern creasing her forehead.

Even Sarah stands up, coming over to them with her eyebrows furrowing together. “It’s not a big deal,” Rafe assures them and despite the tension from earlier, he feels a smile ease onto his face as he gets crowded by his girlfriend and sister.

Sarah shakes her head. “You punched Topper?” she asks, disbelief coloring her tone. And a hint of laughter, if he listens for it.

Isla looks up at him, eyes slightly wide in surprise. He shoots her a flat look that has the corners of her mouth curving up. Before either of them can say anything, a hand appears holding a bag of ice, wrapped in one of the white cloth napkins. All three of their heads follow the hand that leads to John B, who raises his eyebrows at a surprised looking Rafe.

“It’ll help with the swelling,” he says, gaze unwavering, and when Rafe takes it with his uninjured hand, it feels like accepting an olive branch.

“Thanks,” Rafe says genuinely with a dip of his chin, which John B returns, as Rafe places it on his knuckles. His gaze flickers, then, and he catches Isla and Sarah looking between the two of them as if they both grew a second head. When he looks back at John B, the brunette is clearly fighting back a smile, and Rafe finds himself huffing out a laugh as he looks back at a bewildered Isla and Sarah. “You two are gonna dry your eyes out if you don’t blink soon.”

“What is going on.” Sarah asks, though it comes out more as a statement, a demand.

John B drops an arm around Sarah’s shoulders, grinning. “We kissed and made up,” he says with a casual shrug.

It has Rafe snorting out a laugh, surprisingly enough, even as he sucks in a quiet breath when he adjusts the ice on his knuckles. Isla grimaces, still holding his hand from the bottom, as Sarah shakes her head, blinking at Rafe and John B. “I’m so confused.”

Isla cracks a smile in her direction. “Don’t question it.” She looks back at Rafe, her voice quieting, just for him as she looks up at him through long eyelashes and asks, “Are you okay?”

Rafe meets her gaze, the world around them slipping away as he sees the way she searches his eyes. He knows, right then, she doesn’t mean just physically. That she knows what it’s like to be on opposite sides of a friendship, and that something fundamentally has broken between him and Topper. But right now, Rafe can’t make sense of it all.

So he gives her a gentle smile and responds, “Ask me again later?” and, to his relief, she nods after a beat of hesitation.

“Uh, should we leave before Dad finds out you punched someone at this party?” Sarah pipes up, brown eyes darting around the room.

Rafe’s jaw tightens. “If Dad knew what Topper was saying, he wouldn’t be upset.” He blows out a breath through his nose. “But I’m ready to head out,” he adds, glancing at Isla in question, who nods in agreement.

John B smiles. “I know a place we can go.”

*****

If anyone had told Rafe, months ago, that he would be having a beer in John B’s backyard—in the backyard of the Chateau—Rafe would’ve laughed in your face. Maybe said something rude and condescending for even suggesting such a thing.

Yet here he sits, in one of the hammocks even, with a cold beer in his hand and legs spread so Isla could slot hers in the space in between. Through the leaves of the trees around them, Rafe sees the clear dark sky, stars winking in and out of existence as the hammock gently sways under their weight. John B and Sarah are in the next one, their positions mirroring his and Isla’s, and it all feels a little surreal to Rafe.

Inside the Chateau, a few of the lights are on where Big John hangs out. Rafe hadn’t missed the surprise in his eyes from behind his wiry sunglasses when he realized Rafe was accompanying the group of them, but the man had greeted and welcomed him with the same kind of friendliness he always did whenever Rafe happened to see him. Which is a little more than often, given that Big John and Rafe’s dad are friends.

“I’m thinking another boneyard party,” John B muses thoughtfully, his head resting back as he, too, gazes up.

Sarah snorts. “Yeah, because the last one definitely wasn’t broken up by the cops.”

But Isla hums with a smile. “But the last one did have a hand in us getting together,” she says, meeting his gaze.

Rafe grins, remembering that night well. John B looks between them. “Wait, really?”

Isla nods, chuckling. “Remember I said some touron gave me a ride home after we all split up when the cops came?” John B nods and Isla jerks her chin at Rafe. “My knight on a shining motorcycle.”

Sarah feigns a sniff, one hand to her chest and the other wiping a fake tear. “He does have a heart.”

“You’re so funny,” Rafe says sarcastically with a roll of his eyes, but Sarah’s responding laughter has him shaking his head with a small smile of his own. His eyes land on Isla opposite of him and she’s watching him with that gentle smile, one that hints at her dimples, and Rafe’s chest tightens at the sight of her.

Still in her dress, though this time his suit jacket is draped over her shoulders to shield her from the night chill. “It was very sweet,” Isla tells Sarah and John B with a smile before her gaze flicks back to Rafe. She’s looking at him as she tells the couple in the next hammock, “He didn’t have to save my ass, but I’m glad he did.” Rafe’s pulse thumps happily as she nudges her painted toes against his hip where her legs are stretched out next to him. “Who knows if we’d be here if he hadn’t?”

Rafe watches her, unable to see anything or anyone else. “I would’ve found a way,” he replies, the words wrapped in a vow.

Isla’s smile widens, dimple deepening. He loves the sight of them. To his right, he hears John B groan. “Ugh, you were right. They are cute together.”

Both Rafe and Isla look over at them, catching Sarah’s grin and John B’s head shake, though he seems to be hiding his own smile in his next sip of beer. Hearing John B say that clearly delights Isla, green eyes shining in the dark, and Rafe finds himself appreciative of John B’s words, too.

Sarah just grins smugly, triumphantly. “I love being right.”

taglist: @jenniesbuttercup-blog @combatbabys-world @talkfastromance4 @you-got-me-starry-eyed @invisiblexcth @freshsturniolo346 @theafournier97 @danismyth04 @fl0werlver @perfectprettypisces @pameluuu @melsbels-zip @gabrielaperez11 @katieeeeb @cenzie811148

#rafe cameron #outer banks #obx #rafe cameron au #rafe cameron fanfic #rafe cameron fanfiction #rafe cameron fic #obx fic #obx fanfiction #obx fanfic #obx au #john b routledge #sarah cameron #kie carrera #kiara carrera #pope heyward #cleo obx #rafe cameron imagine

30 notes · View notes

theseinfernalangels · 3 days ago

Text

New Horizons - Aaric Graycastle

Synopsis: You left Cam in the early night during July. Now, you return to him battered and bruised in Aretia, right when he needs you the most.

Includes: A plethora of Cosette lore, Little Brother Cam, angst, slight Garrick x Cosette mentions, ughhhhh I love their relationship so much your honor. Second part serves as a Part 2 to THOMH. Takes place in Iron Flame.

You splay a hand on the gilded door, bracing yourself for what is going to be the first of many challenges you’ll face in the coming years. If you live that long, that is.

He doesn’t deserve this. You should have told him sooner.

But you couldn’t. He’d try to stop it himself, to protect you in all the ways he knows he can’t but still tries, anyway.

You’ll just have to settle for now.

Your hand hovers above the wood hesitantly, the image of his pain-filled eyes, usually filled with mischief, making your stomach sink with guilt.

He deserves to know.

Fingers shaking, your hand dips and raps on the wood once before pausing and resting on the surface. Time moves slower with apprehension, you find, because seconds mysteriously slide into minutes and hours within one twitch of an eye.

And then it all resumes once you hear Cam’s voice sound quietly from his room. “Yes?”

You swallow, smoothing your hand down until it grips the handle with a tightness that could only suggest something neither of you want to acknowledge. But, life won’t wait for you to throw a fit about it, so you straighten and school your face into one of neutrality. You can’t show your little brother your fear; that would be a death sentence in this place.

Quietly enough so as not to raise suspicion, you push the door open and slip inside. As you expected, Cam is at his desk. He’s not even in his pajamas, although the clock says it’s 10:32 and he likes to be asleep by 10:45. He must be pulling a late-night study session since he missed his tutoring earlier. The poor boy looks so disheveled, his eyes flitting up and down in confusion as you pull up a chair to sit by his side.

“What are you wearing?”

A quiet cough covers up a laugh. “Is that any way to say hello?”

His lips flatten dryly. “Hello, dear sister of mine. Now, what are you wearing?”

A genuine, tired smile creases the skin around your eyes. There’s my Cam.

You lean in a little, allowing yourself to mull over the words you’ve already rehearsed a thousand times within the last week. In and out. You have to breathe, or you’ll never be able to force the words out.

Your name, laced in careful concern, has you pulled out of your thoughts and meeting your little brother’s gaze. There it is — the look of carefully-regulated anxiety that always makes your heart ache. Cam has no business in looking like that at you, not when you’ve been the one protecting him for his entire life; but he can’t help it anymore. You may be older, but you don’t get the same treatment as him.

“Okay,” you finally begin. “I’m going to preface this by apologizing. I should’ve had this conversation with you sooner, but there was never a good time.” A lie. “So listen up, alright? This is important.”

He immediately discards his pen and turns to you fully, his usually immaculate posture folding in a bit. “Talk to me.”

You can’t offer him anything else but obligation.

“I know I said a long time ago that I’d always be here when you needed me. That I’d always wait for you to catch up to me so we could keep moving forward together.” You ease yourself forward a little more to grab one of his hands gently. “And believe me, I always will when I can. But I can’t anymore. Not for a long, long time.”

Cam just blinks, his brows furrowing in pure confusion. “…I don’t understand.”

Of course he doesn’t. He probably won’t for a while, or until you tell him directly. Part of you wants to hide it, but that would just be another thing he’d never see coming — and Cam hates surprises.

“Cam.” You say his name gently, carefully, like when you held his hand and pulled him alongside you as children. Three years younger, he was always clumsy on his feet but determined to follow you wherever you roamed — which, by the time you turned 12, was everywhere. That’s how it always was, though; you, marching out to play with friends or go to lessons that you knew you had no business attending, and then Cam, running to catch up even if he wasn’t allowed.

“I’m entering the Riders Quadrant, and I’m leaving tonight.”

Immediately, the soft concern fractures into panicked horror, leaving your brother to flinch away from you as if your touch burned him.

“What?” he breathes. “No. You can’t…No.”

He shakes his head, staring down at the floor. “No, Alic is joining the quadrant. He leaves in two days. Not you.”

A sharp pang of guilt shoots through you, but you remain calm, for both of your sakes.

“Cam,” you reiterate softly. “I’m sorry—“

“No.” His head jerks back up, jade green eyes fiery with that determination that he never learned from your brothers. “I’ll tell Father. You can’t leave.”

Your hand squeezes his once, the only way you can keep yourself from falling apart right here and now. “You can’t, actually. It’s a direct order.”

“It’s a direct death wish!” he argues, clenching his free hand and starting to rise to his feet. “I’m sure if I say something—“

“Cam.”

“No, seriously,” he insists. “Give me time, I can—“

“Cam.”

“Stop!” he shouts. “If I go now—“

“Camlaen.”

He goes still. You never call him that. No one does. Not in that tone, at least — firm, grim, and full of command.

Your hands find his shoulders to settle him back down into his chair like you would a child. He still is one, really. A seventeen year old would never know the world like you do. Especially if that seventeen year old happened to be the prince of a very, very fucked up kingdom.

“Listen to me.” You repeat your own words. “There is no getting out of this. There is no escaping. I have been preparing my entire

life for this, and it is an order. If I don’t go, I will die.”

He blinks, his disbelief turning to hesitance. “What do you mean?”

You stare out his window, open and flooding his room with glowing moonlight. Perfect, really, as if the sky had somehow known that you needed it on a night like this. “You’re smart. Think about it.”

And he does. He sits back a little, his nose scrunching like it did even when he was a kid. You can practically see the gears turning in his head.

You’ve been training in combat since he can remember. You train harder. Faster. Stronger. More than him or Alic or Halden could ever claim to. And if it’s an order, if there is no getting out of it…

The moment the realization sets in is also the moment pure, flaming hot fury breaks his gaze.

“He set you up for this.”

You don’t reply. You don’t have to. You know your face gives it away — a small, awkward little smile.

“He did, didn’t he?” he whispers. “Because you’re—“

“A bastard,” you finish quietly, automatically. “And bastards have no place in this family.”

“But…” His hands start moving randomly, as if he’s trying to manually place his thoughts. “That makes no sense. If he wanted you dead, you wouldn’t be here right now.”

Very true. “Yes,” you reply. “Have I ever told you about the circumstances of my birth, Cam?”

You don’t know why you asked. He knows, but he doesn’t. No one knows what happened other than the people who were there at the time.

“Yes?” It sounds more like a tentative question than a confirmation. “You were born, and your mother left you on the steps to the palace.”

You nod. “Right. And then after?”

No answer.

You offer him a smile. “Okay. After my mother gave me up, she died of a disease that was ripping through the city at the time. The guards found me and brought me in, and there was no hiding me from Mother. Father wanted to either give me up or kill me, but he felt so guilty about his affair that he promised her that he would give her one thing that she wanted more than anything, and he wasn’t allowed to object.”

Cam’s eyes widen. “And that was…”

“Me,” you finish. “She had two sons, but she always wanted a daughter. So they kept me, but that doesn’t mean that Father wanted me alive any more than before.”

“So that was always the plan,” he whispers, his fingers twitching in what you know to be him holding himself back from reacting strongly. “To have you killed in there since Father couldn’t order it.”

Your hands drop to his and lightly squeeze them again, a silent comfort. “Yes. I’m the reminder of a mistake he’ll never be able to take back.”

Your little brother goes silent for a moment, probably trying to sort everything out like the little brainiac he is. It’s overwhelming, you know, and it pains you to watch him take in all of this information all at once…but someone has to know. He has to know the truth, especially if you don’t make it out alive.

Finally, you clock the moment something inside him succumbs to defeat, and he sinks a little, his grip on you faltering as his head dips.

It only rises once you tentatively speak his name, and you have to keep yourself from jolting when you see him barely suppressing hot, unshed tears.

“That’s not fair,” he whispers. “He can’t just…do that.”

When his eyes finally meet yours, he breaks and sags forward with a choked cry, pulling you against his chest with a tightness that shatters something in you.

“He can’t,” he repeats softly, his head resting against your chest. “He just can’t.”

Your arms circle around him, one looping around his back and the other reaching up to stroke the back of his neck soothingly. If you feel around, you can find the scar he got as a child when he took a twig-filled snowball to the head. That memory gives you a semblance of comfort, but nothing can wash away the echo of his sobs from back then, and certainly not the ones in front of you right now.

“Easy,” you murmur, holding him like you would glass. “Breathe, Cam. That’s it. It’s okay.”

“It’s not,” he shudders, clutching you tighter. “I can’t — How am I supposed to keep going without you, huh? I don’t know how to do anything without you.”

Part of you yearns to tease him, but given his state, you don’t know if he could take that.

“That’s not true,” you correct him. “You’re capable of so many things, Cam. And I don’t plan on dying. If things turn out, then you could see me on Reunification Day.”

“Of next year!” It’s probably meant to come out as an argument, an insistance that he wants to call you out on, but it really comes out shakily. “That’s not enough.”

It’s not. Not at all, really — not when he’s always been three steps behind you. Now you’ll have a good hundred miles between you, and he physically can’t follow you — not at his age.

“I know.” You stroke the back of his neck softly. “I know, Cam.”

“What am I supposed to do?” His head pops up, his eyes wide and helpless. “I can’t protect you from here. I can’t help.”

I can’t help.

Oh, how he twists your heartstrings.

“…You can,” you tell him after a moment. “You just need to listen to me.”

He’s instantly at attention, backing up a bit and facing you intently. Almost absentmindedly, you reach up and wipe at his face, reddened a bit from his crying. You won’t reprimand him for it; you never have, unlike your brothers.

“First of all,” you begin, wiping your now-wet hand on your pants. “Have a little faith in me, yeah? I’m not dead yet, you know. At least, I don’t think I am.” You look down at yourself.

Cam coughs a little, but you can hear the faint laugh behind it. You suppress a smile. At least you got that one out of the way.

“I’ve been training for this my entire life,” you continue. “Literally. I’ve been fighting since I was six, and I’ve been practicing for the parapet in my free time. I could do it blindfolded in the rain.”

His face falls. “Please don’t.”

You swat at him gently. “That was figurative.”

You settle back into your seat but allow him to cling to you. “Secondly, what you can do is keep studying and training. You are the most precious thing in this palace, and I need you to finish out your education. You alone are smarter than the three of us combined. Use your mind, Cam. Your brain is the best weapon you have, and you need to keep it sharp.”

“Gods,” he whispers. “You sound like Mother.”

“Good,” is all you say. “Because she’s right.”

You lean in a little again, ignoring the strain on you and letting Cam lean on you easier. By now, he’s mostly stopped crying, sans the stray tear or two that slide down his cheeks insistently.

“Third,” you say after a moment, “and this is the most important, Cam: Use your head, but follow your heart. I don’t care if it sounds stupid or corny, and you can make fun of me for it all you want when I’m gone. You know by now that Father doesn’t lead with either. He acts with his best interests in mind and ignores the things that force him to acknowledge corruption. Don’t turn out like him.”

“I’d never,” he says fiercely. “Not when he thinks treating you like this is okay. I’d rather die.”

“Well, don’t,” you reply, gripping his arms tightly. “Halden will make it out unscathed, probably, but Alic and I are in the hands of fate, and I have no doubt that he’ll come after me once we’re over the parapet. At least one of us won’t come home, Cam. If it has to be me, then fine. If it’s one of the twins, then someone has to be here to help Mother and Father cope and find their footings. Deal?”

He frowns but nods anyway. “I don’t like how much certainty is in your tone.”

“That’s how it is, sometimes,” you remind him. “You just have a way of knowing sometimes. Don’t get me wrong, it sucks. But I’d rather know now than find out the consequences later.”

Finally, Cam leans back and away from you, albeit reluctantly. Suddenly, he looks tired. Smaller, akin to a younger boy, when he asks, “…Are you leaving now?”

You glance back out the window. “I could. I just want it to be dark out when I leave.”

His fingers curl around your wrists lightly, and you understand his unspoken request instantly.

“You want me to stay for a little bit?”

He looks down and nods.

A smile twitches on your lips as you lean back and take him in, wiping under his eyes idly with your thumbs.

“Gods, Cam,” you murmur. “When’d you grow up so fast, huh? Where’d my little shadow go?”

“I still am,” he says softly. “I’d follow you all the way there if you’d let me.”

For the first time tonight, you feel yourself get a bit teary-eyed. “Yeah?” you wonder thoughtfully. “I’d take you with me if I could. I bet we could bond ten dragons between the two of us.”

“We’d be fucking unstoppable,” he agrees. “Better than General Melgren or Sorrengail. Maybe you’ll be a general someday.”

You hum. “General Camden has a nice ring to it.”

He blinks. “Camden?”

Oh, shit. You forgot to mention that. “I’m not using the Tauri name while I’m there,” you tell him. “I don’t want unnecessary targets on my back.”

“But…Camden?” he repeats, still confused.

“My mother,” you explain. “Her name was Calla Camden.”

He tests the name on his tongue and then nods after a second. “General Camden sounds way cooler than General Tauri.”

You snicker. “Way.”

You sit there, hand in hand, for what feels like hours before Cam goes still. “I should probably give you your birthday gift now, then.”

Caught off-guard, you raise an eyebrow. “You don’t have to do that.”

“Of course I do,” he replies, almost chidingly. “You’re my sister, and I love you, and you’ve been eyeing this for a while.”

Huh. You’re not a very materialistic person, so it’s not like you’ve set your heart after much. When could Cam have seen you be interested in something like that?

Well, he’s always been observant.

He dips and pulls out a drawer in his desk, fishing around for a few moments — when was the last time he organized that thing? — before he pulls out a small, long box.

He hands it to you carefully. “For your collection.”

My collect— Oh.

With light hands, you loosen the tie on it and flip the top off, and then hold back a sharp gasp at what you find.

A small, ornamental knife lays within the wood, it’s golden hilt just light enough that it looks more like the sun than it does actual gold. It’s not very big at all, probably used for throwing more than sparring, but what really catches your attention is the bright green gemstone inlaid in the center, right where the hilt stops and blade starts.

“I dunno,” Cam manages. “You were looking at it, and I thought it was cool, and it looks kind of like my eyes, so I thought it would be like you were fighting with me even if I wasn’t there…”

He trails off when you don’t say anything, your eyes fixed heavily upon the new blade. Just before he can sit in the silence, or start wondering if you don’t want it, you exhale shakily and carefully put it back in the box.

“Dammit, Cam,” you huff, setting it back on his desk and wrenching him into a tight hug. “Don’t do this to me right now.”

“What?” he protests, accepting the hug but frowning at your words. “I thought it was cool.”

He’s cut off by a quiet, almost imperceptible sniffle, and then he understands. His arms move up, circling around your waist as he tucks your head into his neck.

“Sorry,” he chuckles. “I didn’t mean to make you cry.”

“Happy tears,” you correct him. “Only happy tears.”

“Sure,” he teases. “Whatever you say.”

You don’t bother saying anything back. This silence, with the two of you holding on to each other like stubborn roots, is the only manageable thing you can help about tonight. You don’t need words to tell him that he’ll be fine without you, or that you’ll miss him, or that you’ll do your best to live for him — because deep down, he already knows, even if he can’t quite understand it yet.

On the flip side, he doesn’t need to tell you much, that he needs you to stay alive and do it well and bond a damn dragon, because you can see it in his eyes just fine. They don’t leave you for the entire night; not when you talk, or go over his homework that he’s not quite down, and not when you bid him goodbye and ruffle his hair like you’re about to play a game of chase with him.

They don’t leave you as you climb out his open window and jump onto the scaffolding like you’ve done hundreds of times at this point, sliding down and moving silently across paths worn and faded from years of sneaking out behind your family’s backs. They don’t leave you as you turn away one last time, finding him half-leaning out the window and shooting him a small, tentative two-finger salute — which he, with shaking hands, promptly returns.

And they still don’t leave you, although they’re blurry with tears, once you finally disappear in the darkness for what he can only hope won’t be the last time.

⁺₊⋆ 𖤓 ⋆⁺₊

Unlike now. Now, his head doesn’t even raise to meet yours, even as you quietly shut the door to his room behind you. It’s so unlike that night three years ago, when you’d snuck into his room and he immediately watched for anything wrong. He doesn’t pay attention this time.

No, he does. He always does. He’s just too scared to look up, you realize. Probably because the last he’d seen of you, you’d been bleeding and unconscious in Bodhi’s arms after your trip from Montserrat a week ago. You could have very well died on him. There’s also the fact that he never told you about his conscription.

He must think you’re mad at him.

You take a moment to look at him, so different from the little seventeen year old Cam you watched in his window. He’s older now, a man instead of a little prince. He’s taller, his shoulders are wider, his hair shorter, his skin scarred from sparring. Instead of formals, he wears riders’ black, scarily similar to his older brother.

But it’s still him. Still your little brother. He still clenches a pen in his left hand, albeit shakier now.

So, tentatively, you move forward. One step. Another, until you reach a good few feet away from him.

He still won’t look at you.

Okay, you think. This is fine. It’s just like handling a kid.

He doesn’t budge as you kneel down next to him, just on one knee, so you can see him a little better. You lean in a little, trying to catch onto his gaze. With the little space you can see, you watch his eyes dart away.

A small snort leaves you. “Okay, you’re being absolutely ridiculous now.”

He doesn’t answer, but a flicker of movement catches your eye: the twitch of a thumb moving against his index finger repetitively — a self-soothing gesture he picked up to stop him from sucking on his thumbs.

Yep. Still your brother.

“I’m offended, really,” you continue. “What the hell, Cam?”

He stiffens by just a fraction, his shoulders tensing into a straight line.

“I mean, c’mon.” You stand back up, your hands splayed on your hips. “You’ve grown, like, five extra inches. Save some for the little guys, will you?”

That’s when you hear it — a quiet exhale, either a breath of relief or a terribly disguised laugh. It’s enough to spread a tired grin across your face until you finally hear him speak.

“I’m sorry.”

You lean against the table, unsure if he’s okay with you touching him. “What for?”

He’s quiet for a few seconds, contemplative. His voice is so soft — like he’s sharing something deeply personal.

“I don’t want to see you disappointed in me.”

A part of you breaks a little, but it only serves as motivation for your efforts. With your feet planted firmly on the ground, you slide your hand right in front of his line of vision, causing him to blink.

“Camlaen Aaric Tauri. Look at me.”

He can’t argue with that tone. It’s new, but not unlike you. It must be your Lieutenant voice. Slowly, his head lifts, and for the first time since you left the palace, his eyes find yours. There’s something different about them now; they’re heavier, like they carry the water weight of too much, and a touch more schooled than you’re used to.

A slow, melancholy smile manages to spread across your face. “There he is.”

You lower yourself a little, gripping his shoulders lightly and keeping your gaze directly trained on his. “Is that what you think? That I’m disappointed?”

He doesn’t answer. Doesn’t need to.

You surprise yourself with the laugh that’s pulled out of you, sharp and quiet.

“Gods, Cam,” you murmur. “Are you out of your mind? I’m so fucking proud of you.”

He blinks, his eyes widening a fraction in surprise, before he takes a deep breath in to settle himself. All at once, though, the dam within him breaks, and his lip starts to quiver a bit. His eyes dart all over the room before meeting yours once more, and then you’re being pulledinto him, like he’s a giant magnet.

You don’t mind. You never do. Not when it’s him, at least.

His head finds its way into the crook of your neck, just like when he was small enough to fit in your arms, and you take your chance to wrap him in your embrace, rubbing his back soothingly while he shivers.

“I could never be disappointed in you,” you tell him softly. “Are you kidding? Look at where you are. Look at where you started. You’ve gone and grown up on me!”

He just continues to shake, and although he is silent, you know for a fact that he’s crying. You probably are, too, but you’re so focused on him that the theoretical tears don’t register in your mind.

“So, no,” you add. “Not disappointed. Not even surprised, really.”

He sniffs quietly. “You looked surprised.”

You barely even remember those flashes of vision before you fainted a week ago. “To be fair, I was actively bleeding out. I’m sure I looked like a lot of things.”

You pause to think about your words for a moment. It’s not necessary — you’ve never had to worry about that with your brother — but something in you feels the need to fill that gap between you. Three years, in age and conscriptions.

Three steps behind.

“You know,” you say thoughtfully. “When you said you’d follow me everywhere, I didn’t think you meant including the death college.”

At this, Cam lets go of you and backs away, scrubbing a hand over his face as if that would wipe away every emotion that happens to pass over it. He’s gotten better at it, you can tell — but he’s still no match for your discernment.

“Of course I meant it.” He frowns at his own voice and then clears his throat. “I mean, I have other reasons, but I’d follow you anywhere. Where else am I supposed to go?”

You mull over that for a moment before shrugging. “Good hypothetical. Too bad I don’t have an answer.”

He laughs — a tiny, soft little thing — before he goes silent again, back into his thoughts like the same boy who used to get lost in his own daydreams for hours. Everything is so different, yet the same. It stings a little, but it’s also comforting.

He just shakes his head. “I’m…not very sure what to say right now. I have so many questions, so many things I want to know…”

You slide your hand over the table, palm up — a no-pressure move. “I’m sure you do. I’m the same. Dive in. Ask me anything. Tell me every detail about this year. I want to know everything.”

Cam hesitated for a moment, just staring at your hand before sliding his own on top of it, squeezing it tentatively. You go back and forth with questions for what seems like hours.

(What’s your dragon’s name? “Seachran. Yours?” “Molvic.”)

(Do you know? “About?” “What you’re actually doing here.” “Of course.”)

(Do you still have that knife? “Of course I do.” You pull it out of your pocket. “I never go anywhere without it.”)

(Any secret romances? “…It’s complicated.”)

(Any secret marriages? “Oh. I, uh…wasn’t going to bring that up until later.” “You didn’t have to. Garrick never shuts up about you being his wife.”)

(Does Father know you’re here? “You’re my only family that does.”)

(What’s your signet? “I’m a light-wielder. Have you manifested yet?” “No.”)

(How are classes? “I’m one of the ones at the top.” “I expect no less.”)

(Do you still go by Camden? “Yes. Violet said you also use a different last name?” “…You don’t want to know.”)

You inhale, smoothing a hand over your face as you try and fight off the obvious smile that wants to etch itself into your skin.

“Okay. I can get behind the middle name. But…Graycastle?”

Cam hangs his head. “I panicked.”

At the sign of his defeat, you allow the laughter to bubble up and shake your body gently. “What do you mean, you panicked?”

He doesn’t look up. “I was all confident at the parapet, and I was planning to say Camden, too, but then it felt insensitive. I didn’t know Violet would be taking names, and I got nervous and saw Basgiath right behind her…”

You don’t let him finish. “And it’s a gray castle, basically. Aaric Graycastle.”

He groans as you cackle again, tossing your head back. “Yes. Delight in my misery. I love you, too.”

So dramatic. You sigh and shake your head fondly. “Well, it’s over with. Between us, though, I wouldn’t be offended if you went by Camden. It’s my last name now, and what’s mine is yours.”

He blinks, taken aback. “Really?”

You don’t let him stew in silence. “Really. But, for the comedic effect—“

He cuts you off with another groan. “Stop. I might have to ask you for all your marriage details in excruciating specifics.”

Cam rests his forehead against the table with a thunk when you just shrug. “Bet, little brother. If you want details, I’ll give you details.”

“Get me the hell out of here,” he declares. “Not those details.”

“You’re in no place to order me around,” you retort, crossing your legs. “I outrank you now, actually. You get the hell out of here, Cadet Graycastle.”

Your little brother doesn’t even skip a beat. “Aye, General Camden.”

Taglist: @wonderstruckbyyou, @jessicalee22likestowrite, @freezerbride18, @ineednewdaggers, @suspicious-stain-in-spain, @kienhawon, @goldenmagnolias, @bi-incog-btch, @lxnvmvrzx

Want to be a part of my taglist? Leave a reply to be added!

#fourth wing #the empyrean #iron flame #onyx storm #aaric graycastle #aaric graycastle imagines #aaric graycastle x oc #cam tauri #cam tauri x sister!oc #cosette camden #fourth wing oc

39 notes · View notes

captain-huggy-bear · 3 hours ago

Text

Cowpoke

Series/AU: Small Town AU Pairing: Rancher/Homesteader!Jack McBain x Fem!Reader Warnings: N/A Summary: Jack's not the biggest talker to people, but he sure is sweet to animals. Notes: I'm not an equestrian nor a rancher nor a farmer so sorry if any of this is wrong, I tried not to do anything that would be too specific. Thanks to the anon that requested something along these lines 🩵 Writing Masterlist

Jack has never really liked people. The exception historically being his beer league hockey team, his family who now live 2 states away, little kids and Mrs Butcher who brings cookies to the ranch from time to time. More recently you'd made your way onto his list of acceptable humans.

There's a reason Jack doesn't go into town often, a reason he doesn't really date much (not to mention how badly the last woman broke his heart), and a reason he avoids others. He hates small talk, hates making polite conversation to most people. You? You he doesn't mind so much, talking doesn't feel like a chore with you, you let him be quiet when he needs to be and you let him yap when he wants too. The perfect balance in your new, blossoming relations...and then there's the animals.

The chattiest he's ever been is with them. Like he's suddenly found all the words he's been saving up for the past 2 decades. You don't see that side of him, not often around the Ranch and when you are it's usually evening, the animals put away to bed already while Jack makes his dinner.

Today's an exception, you find yourself driving down the dirt track road, pulling up outside the farm house Jack had fixed up with Dylan, the blue painted shutters, the swing he'd built on the porch. Your reasoning? You missed him. You just wanted to see Jack, even if that meant doing chores around the farm on one of the hottest days of the year so far.

"Jack?" When you knock, you don't get an answer, pushing the door open and wandering the halls. It's empty. No Jack, no Dylan. Just a bunch of wild flowers on the kitchen counter in an old jam jar and the barn cat that had stopped being quite so much a barn cat and instead become a housecat, Tractor (named after the tractor in which he was first discovered).

You give the cat a quick rub down until he gets fed up, black mittens batting at you. Taking your queue you make your way back outside and start to wander until you hear that low rumble that is Jack's voice.

"I know, good girl...shhh, c'mon, it'll feel better once i'm done, okay?" His voice rumbles, soft, low, reassuring. More words in one sentence than you've ever heard him speak to someone that wasn't you or one of the guys.

It stops you for a moment, feet stilling, frowning because you're unsure who he could possibly be talking to like that...part of you, the damaged part, the part that's had too many men break your heart jumps to the thought that maybe there's another woman at the ranch. Still, even with that thought, you force your feet forward until you round the barn, finally seeing Jack.

He's absolutely gorgeous in the hot sun, shirt off, broad shoulders bare and sun kissed, work jeans tight across his thighs, boots on as he takes his old horse, Sunny's, hoof between his legs, hoof nippers in hand as he tries to trim them while Sunny tries to shrug him off. The old mare tied to the hitching post to keep her from moving away as she shifts uneasy.

Sunny kicks a back leg out behind her even though Jack isn't anywhere near it to get hit. You lean against a fence post to watch as he balances the nippers on his lap, free hand coming up to stroke along her neck in soothing passes. He pats her neck before reaching for the nippers again.

"Don't be like that, darlin', shhh, just let me trim this hoof for you, you old nag." He's admonishing but still soft as he tells her off for trying to get rid of him, it makes a smile start to form on your face, head tilting as you watch him with soft eyes. Each word makes you melt a little as if he's talking to you and not an ornery old mare. He's still got that stupid moustache across his lips, but the rest of his beard is starting to grow in a little now.

Sunny tries to toss her head at him, nickering as if to tell him to piss off and he just laughs at her low in his throat. The sort of laugh that rumbles out from deep in his chest.

"Yeah, yeah, I don't like trimming my nails either but the old lady doesn't want me scratchin' her so I do it. Sometimes you gotta do things you don't want to, girl." You're not sure if being called an old lady in your 20s is a compliment, but from Jack? From Jack it sounds almost like a proposal, the sort of name that warms you inside like a warm bowl of soup on a winter's day. That he's thinking of you even when there's no reason to.

You watch as he works his way around each of Sunny's hooves, trimming them even as she shifts, even when she tries to kick. Not once does Jack lose his temper, he just speaks low and soft. Soothing her with his words and calling her every sweet name he can think of as if that will make her less irritated with him.

"All done, old thing," He pats her on the rump, tossing the nippers off to the side and reaching in his pocket for her favourite treat, a peppermint. The hard feelings are quickly forgotten as she eats the peppermint, Jack untying her from the post only to have Sunny shove her big head at him searching for more treats.

"Alrigh', alright', you can have one more. But, only one, darlin', can't be giving you too many now." Still you watch as he gives her more than one, 3 more eaten in quick succession before he ushers her off into the pasture with the other horses.

It's like you've seen a whole other Jack. The Jack that talks soft, not just to you, but to animals. The Jack that's patient for the select few. The Jack that for his big size knows how to be gentle. The ache it leaves in your chest is made even worse as his big fluffy cream livestock dog comes barrelling towards him, Dozer, all but tackling Jack.

Jack falls back onto his backside, big dog sat in his lap like he's not 80lbs of muscle and fluff. Nose nuzzling into Jack's cheek with the enthusiasm only a excited dog can provide.

"Shit, Dozer, easy now...Jesus, you're going to take me out and then who'd feed ya?" The overgrown puppy just licks at Jack's face as he tries to push him away, leaning back with a booming laugh as he avoids a kiss to the lips from a dog that recently killed a coyote only 4 nights ago.

"Yeah, yeah, love you too. Go do your job, you soppy thing." Jack shoves Dozer off gently, the big fluff ball, looking over at you and barking once in greeting before running off to patrol his patch. Dozer finally gives you away, Jack looking up and over at you from his place on the ground, face falling into a look of sheepishness like he didn't expect to be caught giving his horse too many treats and letting his livestock guardian dog knock him to the ground.

He's quick to jump to his feet, hands brushing dirt off of his ass and smoothing down his thighs. "Hey, baby..."

"Hey, Jack," You swing yourself up and over the paddock fence, a little slower than Jack would have done, worried about falling flat on your face. Not that you need worry about that when Jack's already there, hands on your hips to support you and make sure you don't slip or fall.

"I didn't realise you were comin' over..."

"I missed you, big guy." You say it because it's true, but also because you don't want to make him more self conscious, not wanting to bring up his chattiness towards the animals. Not wanting him to ever stop it.

Jack flushes bright red from the base of his neck to the tips of his ears, eyes softening, mouth slipping into a smile like he's already forgotten that you caught him with Dozer in his lap.

"Missed you too, sweetheart," The kiss he gives you is so sweet that you melt into it, fingers slipping to his bare shoulders, warm from the sun, your own shoulders relaxing at the taste of him against you.

And like that it's so easy. So easy to not give in to the temptation to tease him. So easy to let sleeping dogs lie, so easy to know that you're with a man that talks to horses like they're sweet old ladies when they try to kick him, that lets his livestock guardian dog be a dog and not a worker even if for a moment.

So, yeah, maybe you could tease him, but a man like Jack? A man that says so few words already? He doesn't need that. He needs to know you accept him as he is without reservation. So instead you just lean into that kiss and hope he can feel every ounce of yearning for him that you hold in your chest, every hope that he never changes, that he doesn't become one of your what ifs.

#small town au #jack mcbain x reader #jack mcbain/reader #nhl imagine #nhl x reader

21 notes · View notes

sequinsmile-x · 1 day ago

Text

Knocks Me Off My Feet

It wasn’t like the woman of his dreams would just walk right into his life.

The one in which Emily and Aaron meet in an unusual way.

A Young Hotchniss AU.

-x-

Hi besties,

This was inspired by a meme I saw where a guy sent a woman a text basically saying "i'm so sorry I hit you with my car, I was impressed how you knocked your shoulder back into it's socket. Want to go on a date?" And it gave me massive young hotchniss, meet cute vibes - and here we are.

This is a complete AU, not just young them. No real attachment to canon at all. I definitely see this being a version of them I write for again, I have so many ideas for them and if you guys want to read them I'll write them.

As always, let me know what you think!

-x-

Warnings: minor injury

Words: 3.2k

Read over on Ao3, or below the cut

It had been a long day in court.

Aaron was rarely someone who lived for the weekend. He enjoyed his job, he enjoyed seeking justice for the victims he represented on behalf of the court, but it had been a long day at the end of a long week, and despite not having any plans, he was grateful for two days off.

He can’t help but think of his ex-fiance as he climbs into his car and about what she’d say if she could see him now. He and Haley had been together since high school. They’d made it through their undergrads together and his time at Harvard Law school, but his career as a prosecutor, the amount of time and energy he put into his work, had started to fracture their relationship. Every late night, every file of casework brought home was another crack in it until it gave way and lay at their feet in pieces. She told him she loved him, that she had wanted to marry him, but that she knew this would never work. That no matter what job he did, he would give it his all, and she wasn’t sure she could cope with that.

She’d left him and the ring he’d given her in the apartment they’d leased together five months ago. The more he looked back on it, the more he moved forward into whatever his life looked like without her now, he knew the fact that he hadn’t stopped her said everything. He hadn’t gone after her, he’d done as she’d asked, and he hadn’t called. He’d let her move on and was trying to do the same.

He sighs and gets into his car as he thinks of the weekend ahead. His colleague Dave, a senior prosecutor who loved to get into everyone's business almost as much as he loved his job, kept telling him he needed to go out and meet someone, but Aaron had never been any good at dating. Haley had asked him out back in high school, and he hadn’t had to worry about it since then. He hated the thought of going to bars with no aim other than to talk to someone in the hopes of getting their number. He didn’t want to do online dating, the thought alone made him shiver, but he knew his choices for meeting someone were limited.

It wasn’t like the woman of his dreams would just walk right into his life.

He grumbles under his breath as the first set of lights he comes up to go red, and he shakes his head. DC traffic was a nightmare and always had been, and all he wanted was to get home, order a pizza and have a drink while he watched his favourite movie. The light turns green, and he takes his foot off the brake, only to press it down immediately when a woman steps out in front of his car, her focus on her phone as she texts furiously. He stops his car a second too late and he hits her, sucking in a breath at the thunk as she falls to the ground. He unbuckles his belt with shaking hands and gets out of the car, ignoring the beeping of the horn of the vehicle behind him as the driver curses at him as he goes past.

Aaron doesn’t look at him. He barely pays anyone any attention, doesn’t look at any of the onlookers or people pretending not to look. Instead, he just focuses on her. She’s sitting on the ground, her phone just out of her reach, with her hand pressed against her right shoulder. He kneels down next to her, making sure he leaves a decent amount of space between them.

“Ma’am, are you okay?”

She groans and looks up at him, and he momentarily feels breathless as their eyes meet. She’s beautiful and quite clearly furious at him, something that only seemed to add to her beauty.

“Please don’t call me Ma’am,” she grumbles, “Don’t you watch where you’re going?”

He furrows his brow, “The light was green, you were on your phone…” he stutters, drifting off as guilt flares in his gut when she raises an eyebrow at him.

“Maybe we can play the blame game when my shoulder is back in its socket,” she says, and he nods. She looks at his car, surveying the bonnet curiously. “I think I can knock it back in-”

“Are you crazy?” He asks, cutting over her, “I’m taking you to the hospital.”

She scoffs, “I don’t need to go to the hospital.”

He sighs and looks up, grateful to see their audience has dwindled down to nothing, and he looks back at her. She has defiance painted across her face, and it makes her eyes sparkle, and he wonders just how many people have been on the receiving end of the look she’s giving him.

“You do, your shoulder is dislocated,” he says, “And I’ll feel a hell of a lot better if I know you get it looked at.”

She chuckles, “Oh, as long as you feel better,” she says, but then she winces as she moves even the slightest bit. “Fine,” she grumbles, clenching her jaw when she tries to stand up, “You’ll have to help me up.” He nods as he stands, and he is very aware of where his hands are as he lifts her. He makes sure they are in a respectable spot on her waist as he helps her onto her feet. He opens the passenger side door for her and quickly gets into the driver's seat. “You have to promise me something. Two things.”

He looks over at her, “Of course.”

“One, you aren’t some kind of kidnapper or serial killer,” she says, and he smiles, clearing his throat as he nods.

“I promise I’m not. I actually put people like that away for a living.”

She nods, “Okay, good.”

“And two?”

She smiles at him, and he knows he’d do anything to make her smile like that. “You promise you won’t knock anyone else over on the way to the hospital.”

He laughs as he starts the car back up and pulls back out into the stream of traffic, “I promise.”

When they make it to the hospital, he helps her out of the car even as she claims she doesn’t need help. He follows her into the hospital and to the desk in the ER waiting room as she explains to the nurse what had happened, mercifully leaving out the fact that he was the one who had knocked her over. She takes a clipboard from the nurse to fill out her information and sits down. He stands awkwardly for a moment, unsure whether she wants him to leave or not now that he’d got her here, but she looks up at him and sighs, holding out the clipboard the nurse had given her, her eyebrow raised as she nods towards the seat next to her.

“You might as well help me fill this out,” she says, handing it to him as he sits, her smile as teasing as it had been since she’d climbed into his car, “Seeing as I can’t use my dominant hand right now.”

He nods and picks up the pen from the top of the board, realising in abject horror that he hadn’t even asked her what her name is, but she clears her throat, and her lips are pressed together in a way he knows is to stop her from laughing at him.

“Emily,” she says, and he clears his throat, smiling back at her as he fills out the first box.

“Aaron,” he replies, realising he hadn’t told her his name either, that he’d been so caught up in making sure she was okay that he’d forgotten to do so.

“Nice to meet you, Aaron,” she says, smirking when she looks down at her dislocated shoulder, “Well…mostly.”

He’s about to apologise again, but she beams at him, and he knows that’s not what she's asking for. Instead, he looks back down at the paperwork. “Surname?”

“Prentiss,” she says, “P, r, e, n, t, i, s, s.”

“Huh,” he says as he fills it out, “Just like the new senator.”

She hums, “Exactly like her. She’s my mom.”

He freezes, and any attempt at calming himself down goes in a second, because not only had he hit someone with his car - he’d hit the senator’s daughter.

“You…she’s your mom?”

Emily laughs at him and then winces when it jolts her shoulder, “It’s okay, don’t worry. I don’t think she’d notice if I were hit by a car right in front of her,” she smiles self-deprecatingly and shrugs her good shoulder, “I don’t think she’ll hold it against you.”

He wants to ask a follow-up question, but he knows it’s not his place, so instead he nods and looks back down at the paperwork, “Occupation?”

She scrunches her nose up, “Currently nothing,” she says, pressing her lips together in a tight smile, “I just finished my master's degree. I’m figuring the rest out.”

“Congratulations,” he says, his smile fading after a moment, “Do you have medical insurance? I can pay for the treatment-”

“I have insurance,” she says, and he only realises she’d placed her hand on his arm when she squeezes. She seems to notice in the same moment and takes her hand away like she’s been burned, looking down at her lap.

“Do you know the information?”

She nods and gives him her details, and by the time the doctor calls her through, he almost wishes they had more time to talk.

___

“Motherfucker.”

She presses her hand against her right shoulder and focuses on the scratch of the imboliser against her palm instead of the pain lancing through her shoulder because she’d moved a little too quickly.

It wasn’t the first time she’d dislocated her shoulder. She’d done it once before when she was 16 and they were living in Paris. She’d snuck out to go to a party and had stayed out later than she meant to, so she’d climbed up the trellis on the outside of the house in an attempt to climb back into her bedroom window. She’d fallen and landed in the grass below, and her shoulder had taken most of the impact. She’d managed to get up off the ground, and one of the security agents assigned to them took her to the hospital. It was only when he told her that her mother wasn’t even home that she realised she could have walked in the front door.

She thinks she could have even if her mother had been home. She’d never been the focus of her attention. Her desire to be a Senator had been strong even then, and she took as many postings as possible back when she was an ambassador to prove her worth. She didn’t think about how it impacted Emily when they moved all the time, didn’t think about anything other than her political goals.

Emily wondered if her mother considered it all worth it now she’d achieved it. If she had any regrets over how she’d sacrificed her relationship with her daughter to get elected into the job she’d wanted for decades.

It’s why Emily hadn’t been paying attention when she walked out in front of Aaron’s car. She’d been in the middle of an argument with her mother over text. Elizabeth was insistent that they were seen together more, said it did her image some good since a part of her campaign had been hinged on her being a single mother. It drove Emily crazy that was the reason her mom wanted to see her, so they could have dinner where they could be seen, rather than because she actually wanted to have dinner with her. She was in the middle of sending a scathing reply, one she was strangely grateful she never actually got to send, when Aaron’s car hit her.

There was something about him that she found endearing, something that made her want to ruffle his straight edges and the seriousness that seemed to be woven through him. She’d half expected him to be gone from the waiting room by the time she came back out with her shoulder back in place and strapped against her chest, but he was still there looking something close to adorable as he smiled when he saw her.

He’d insisted on driving her home, and she accepted before she even thought about it, keen to spend as much time with him as possible in a way she didn’t entirely understand. He’d given her his number, and she’d done the same, and he told her if she needed anything, to call. As he walked away, she was sure she’d never see him again, that this would be an amusing story she’d tell people going forward. The handsome stranger who had hit her with his car, the fact that it was her fault a part of it she’d never share, and then took her to the hospital.

She huffs out a breath and looks at the food in her fridge, and she closes it again, deciding that ordering in dinner would be easier than cooking with one hand. She’s about to riffle through the takeout menu drawer in her kitchen when the buzzer to her apartment rings. She frowns and walks over to the phone on her wall, and she answers.

“Hello?”

“Hi, it’s me. Aaron.”

She furrows her brow and tightens her hold on the phone, “Oh, hi.”

“I uh…I brought you a couple of things. To help out whilst your arm is strapped to your chest.”

“Oh,” she says, wondering if she should hate him or not for how her cheeks flush, for how she feels the warmth of it spread down her chest, “That’s…that’s really nice of you.”

There’s a moment of silence, a pause where both of them are trying to figure out what to say.

“I…I only just realised how creepy this might seem,” he says, and she bites her lip to stop herself from laughing at him, “I’m sorry.”

“Well, as long as you stick to your promise that you’re not a serial killer or kidnapper, I think we’ll be fine.”

“I promise,” he says, and she can almost picture his smile, the edges of it slightly fuzzy because she hadn’t been able to commit it to memory yet. “So, can I come up?”

“Yeah, sorry,” she says, pressing the button to release the front door, “You remember where to go?”

“I’ll be up in a minute.”

She hangs up the phone and blows out a shaky breath. She only has a moment to look at herself in the mirror, to fluff her hair a little in a way that has her rolling her eyes at herself, and then there’s a knock on the door. She smiles as she opens the door, and she has to press her lips together in an attempt to contain it the moment she sees him.

He’s standing on her doorstep with a bag full of food in one hand - different foil dishes piled on top of each other - and a bunch of sunflowers in the other.

“Hi,” she says, looking him up and down, “Come in.”

“Thanks,” he replies, stepping past her and into the apartment, “I kept thinking about when I dislocated my shoulder a few years ago and I struggled to cook anything,” he says, turning to look at her, his smile flitting between nervousness and guilt as his eyes drift to her shoulder, “So I thought I’d make some casseroles for you to reheat. You can freeze some too.”

It’s a type of kindness she’d rarely experienced, so for a moment it takes her by surprise. She furrows her brow and wraps her good arm around herself in an attempt to protect herself. “You cooked for me?”

He nods, “A few different things. I realised partway through that I didn’t know what you like.”

She smiles at him, feels herself relaxing a little in his presence in a way she still doesn’t understand but doesn’t want to fight against. “Did you have nothing better to do with your Saturday?”

He shakes his head, “No.”

“And the flowers?”

He clears his throat, “Another apology for hitting you with my car,” he says, nodding towards the cat tree in the corner of the room, “I noticed you had a cat, so I looked up what flowers wouldn’t kill it.”

She thinks of Sergio curled up on her bed, and she smiles. Aaron hadn’t met him in the brief moment he’d been in her apartment yesterday, he hadn’t even seen him, and she looks over at the cat tree he’d pointed out. It’s another thing that makes him endearing, something else that makes the walls she’d built around herself start to crumble with nothing more than a show of kindness from a man who had been a stranger just 48 hours ago.

She hums, “You really notice everything, don’t you?”

He shrugs, “Apart from beautiful women walking out in front of my car, apparently.”

She chuckles at the look on his face, and she knows he’s said more than he meant to. She feels herself blush again, and she looks down so he doesn’t see it.

“Thank you, that’s…sweet.” She points behind her, “The kitchen is through here.”

He follows her through and puts the casseroles away in the fridge for her, and fills a vase with water for the flowers. He smiles at her as he places the sunflowers in the water, and then he turns to look at her.

“I should get going, I only wanted to bring you the food.”

She barely waits for him to take a step before she’s talking, her desire to spend more time with him overriding anything else. “You could stay.”

He turns to look at her, his eyebrows furrowed, “I don’t want to intrude.”

“I was about to have dinner anyway,” she says, “And you cooked. Unless you have plans…”

“No, I have no plans,” he says, “As long as you’re sure.”

She hums, “I’m sure,” she says, holding his eye contact a beat longer than she means to, “You can reheat the meal though.”

He smiles at her, and it’s a smile she thinks she’d like to see every day, and he steps past her, his hand on her waist as he walks towards the fridge, “Deal.”

Later, months and countless dates and I love yous down the line, they’d argue over whether that night counted as their first date.

She’d always argue that it wasn’t, that it couldn’t count because her shoulder was still strapped to her chest, and they didn’t even kiss until the following day when he came over again - this time because she invited him over. He’d always disagree and say it did count. He’d kiss her and say that he knew that night that he knew he would fall in love with her. It was something that would make her smile and roll her eyes at her boyfriend as she’d lean in to kiss him.

She’d never admit that she knew she’d fall in love with him that night too, but she knows she doesn’t have to - he already knew.

#aaron hotchner #emily prentiss #aaron hotchner fanfiction #aaron hotchner x emily prentiss #hotchniss fanfiction #emily prentiss fanfiction #aaron x emily #hotchniss fanfic #hotchniss #hotchniss fan fic

22 notes · View notes

wrldhoon · 3 days ago

Text

sigils and sin (m)

02 ── .✦

⋆˚★ pairing: enhypen ༝ fem.ᐟreader

word count — 7.5k

౨ৎ masterlist

synopsis ⊹ ࣪ ˖ war. power. loss. love. secrets. sin. you were trained to do many things. that was why you chose to be here. the dragon-riding quadrant of the notorious Veirthorne Academy. they trained you to fight, to win, to survive. yet, they never taught you to be human.

genre(s) ᯓ fantasy, angst, slow-burn, multiple love interests, smut

⤷ warnings: explicit content, violence, death, graphic depictions of injury

ꨄ︎ note: spent all day writing this and i really enjoyed it tbh... a bit longer than the first chapter BUT new characters have been introduced so YAYYY!! next chap will prob take longer since im busy all weekend but hopefully that means it will be longer.. happy reading! <3

02 ─ the culling

anger.

to lose control is to place a weapon in your own hands, its edge pointing outwards.

a weapon that wounds.

one that kills.

deadly, powerful, and all consuming.

it courses through your veins until there is more feeling than blood—the one thing that served as a reminder that you were still human.

you could feel the warm trickle of scarlet coat your fingers, slowly dripping onto the gravel beneath your feet. his eyes glanced down at your hand, and not once did his expression falter. “you’re bleeding, cadet.”

your gaze never left his face.

you hated it.

you hated that annoying look on his face whenever he saw you, like it was uniform.

you hated his eyes. deep, brown eyes that seemed just a little too empty.

you hated his lips. the way the corners turned up in a smug smile.

you hated him.

“i know that,” you spoke through gritted teeth.

“then, you better go get that fixed. wouldn’t want you bleeding out like this during training, do we?”

“of course, sir,” your tone was mocking. you watch his eyes narrow, jaw tightening in pure annoyance. you knew the healers had returned to their rightful quadrant already. the next time you see a healer would be at the next big trial—whenever that may be. you knew he knew that, too.

jake.

your thoughts drifted to him, his sweet smile and gentle hands. you had barely met him, but he emitted this sense of warmth that loosened the tight coils of your fears. the kind of person that made you feel like the world could burn, but as long as he was alive, you could be at peace.

as if maybe, just maybe, all the light hadn’t been stripped from the world just yet.

you hoped to see him again.

the boy turned his attention to the group before him. “i will be your squad leader for the remainder of your time here. this group, this section, this squad—it does not guarantee your survival. you have been assigned to the most dangerous, unpredictable section within this quadrant, because that is what you are. that means those around you are, too. death is inevitable. so, prepare for it. become it. anyone can be your enemy, whether it is today, tomorrow, or for the rest of your life,”

your thoughts drifted off to that girl.

the one who pushed you on the stairs.

your eyes scanned the rows of cadets around you.

there were fifteen of you total, excluding your dear squad leader.

she was no where in sight.

you took mental note of that. from now on, you knew she would come after you. you could feel it.

“there are no formal events scheduled for the rest of the night. we will take you to your barracks—allow you all to settle in. get in as much sleep as you can tonight. you will need it for tomorrow,” with that, he turned on his heels and began moving forward. the rest of you followed along behind him. you weave through a few people before reaching the person you had been looking for since you had left jake.

your steps fell into line with hers. sensing your presence, she turned in your direction. her eyes widened in surprise, a cheery grin gracing her features.

she was pretty.

“oh thank Gods, you’re here too? i was worried i’d never see you again after today,” you returned the gesture.

“i don’t die easily,” it was a joke, but she could tell it stung. just a little bit.

she slid her arm into the nook of your elbow, “well, from now on i will make sure you don’t die at all. we will be making it to third year together. it is my personal mission to break that stigma.”

you gaped at her in surprise.

third year.

rumor had it that not many cadets even survived long enough to make it past the first week.

living long enough to make it through first year was already a high accomplishment in itself.

“i’m hana, by the way. i never got to ask for your name ‘cause.. y’know. near-death and all,” you let out a soft chuckle at that. “y/n.”

“okay, it’s settled then. y/n and hana—making it to third year together!”

she was way too happy considering she almost died just a few hours ago.

maybe you needed someone like that, though.

that glimmer of hope to drown out your fear.

hope in a world overwhelmed with suffering.

you gave each other a knowing look before turning your attention back towards the front. the cobblestone walls of the riders quadrant was decorated with moss and vines. its cracks and rough corners emphasized the age of the academy. you noticed the slight divots underneath your feet.

hundreds, thousands of cadets had walked this very same path.

some for the very last time, others on their way to becoming riders.

you wondered if you could live long enough to consider yourself one of them.

“this will be your sleeping quarters. training begins at dawn. i expect you to be there on time,” and with that, he left.

you watched as his figure retreated down the hallway, his eyes briefly locked with yours once he had reached the end of it. then, he turned the corner.

he was gone.

something about his gaze sent chills up your spine. you didn’t know what it was, but it would be at the back of your mind for the rest of the night.

everyone settled into their respective beds. you chose the bed right in the middle beside hana. the minute the door had shut, you felt it. there was something eery about the barracks.

the atmosphere.

it was… tense.

a type of tension that felt deadly.

you tried not to dwell on it too much, but that feeling.

that gut feeling—it never left.

suddenly, the torches went out. a strong gust of wind blew across the room, causing everyone to shudder. you laid on the thin mattress, the sad excuse of a blanket pulled up to your chin. it was freezing. your body trembled lightly. the sheet did little to keep you warm, to ease your nerves.

then, a choked gasp was heard.

you immediately sat up, head snapping towards the source of the sound. you froze. the sight in front of you left you speechless.

the boy from earlier.

the one with the broken arm.

he had one end of a rolled up sheet in his fist, the other end between his bared teeth.

he was choking someone, strangling them with the shredded cloth.

“what the fuck are you doing?!” someone shouted, rushing over in attempt to save them. their face had turned a nasty shade of red, then blue. their nails were digging into the boy’s arm, scratching at him till he bled.

he looked over his shoulder, his gaze sharp. in one swift movement, he turned, his fist flying straight towards the cadet’s face.

crack.

the punch was powerful enough to knock her down, hands over her nose as she cried out in pain. he had broken her nose and Gods know what other bones in her face. he was strong. horrifyingly, so. you could feel your heart pounding in your ears. it muffled the sounds of chaos emitting from the other cadets.

“you have been assigned to the most dangerous, unpredictable section within this quadrant, because that is what you are.”

“anyone can be your enemy, whether it is today, tomorrow, or for the rest of your life.”

that was what he said.

but this was what he meant.

loyalty was not a given just because you were in the same squad.

“they are your family.”

a lie.

deception weaved between hopeful words, spoken with promise.

this wasn’t family.

this was survival.

and survival had only one rule.

to kill.

anyone can be your enemy, and that meant everyone was.

you leaned over the empty space between you, gripping hana’s arm and dragging her onto your bed. “they’re going to start killing each other.”

you could see the fear etched into her features, “but i thought—”

“no, hana. remember where we are. what we are trying to become. this is not a game,” everything began to piece itself together in your head.

“there are only so many dragons willing to bond each year. there are hundreds of us. dragons don’t bond with weak humans, remember?” you reminded her, hands tightening around her shoulders as if to ground her, to keep her from completely losing her mind in this moment.

the weak—they die first or they die at the hands of a dragon.

“the parapet, that guy?” she nodded her head, her whole body locked up in fear.

“he tried to kill you. and me. that didn’t end just because we made it across,” you could see the realization settle, her skin underneath your fingers suddenly feeling hot.

“this—this is cruel! this isn’t human! i don’t want to kill someone that’s fighting for the same thing i am!” you could see tears prick at her eyes.

you knew then.

she was scared.

weak.

that meant she was a target.

you knew being tied to her would make you one, too.

you had to make another choice.

kill her and turn into the monster you had sworn to become when you stepped foot on to that bridge, or protect her and cling onto the part of you that was still human.

you thought back to your family. what would they think of you if you had succumbed to the desire to kill? would they feel disgusted, horrified by who you were becoming? or would they praise you for surviving? Gods, was it cruel. to survive as a rider, you had to let go of humanity. it all made sense, too, which terrified you. you were here to fight for a spot—a bond.

dragons themselves, they’re monsters. you couldn’t escape that fate even if you tried, unless you were weak. unless a dragon deemed you unworthy and burned you to ashes on the spot.

unless you die.

“you don’t have to kill anyone. you just need to live.” your words left a bitter taste in your mouth, because you knew it was a lie.

this was just the beginning.

it starts with deceit.

then, it spirals into something savage.

a vicious truth you can never come back from.

all hell had broken loose.

cadets—some went for the kill, others stayed alert and chose to avoid conflict at all costs.

some kills were successful, others weren’t. their failures birthed resentment. they sparked grudges and fueled rivalries that would not be forgotten until death.

then, there was blood.

it stained the walls, flowed like connecting rivers along the ground. the only evidence that those people ever lived. their bodies had been thrown over the side, hitting the concrete below with a painful thud.

it was brutal.

the scent of death. it made you sick. you could feel the bile rising in your throat, yet you forced it back down. you couldn’t show weakness. you already had a giant target on your back. so, you didn’t sleep. you forced yourself to stay awake, to watch. the moment you fell asleep, a hand could reach for your throat, a blade could sink itself into your heart.

so you sat there. right in the middle of the storm.

you prayed.

you prayed that your body would stay awake from pure adrenaline, that if someone lunged at you now, you would be able to react without hesitation.

without fear.

you allowed it to dissolve, slip between your fingers and get buried beneath everything else. you stored it away in a tiny, little box in your mind. you couldn’t afford to be afraid, because fear gets you killed.

to survive, you had to become it.

by the time dawn had arrived, there were eleven of you left.

four people—dead.

hana was curled up beside you, her hands wrapped tightly around your arm, using your presence as an anchor to reality. your eyes were dry and irritated from being open for so long. a gentle breeze stirred the air. you could see the sun rising above the horizon from where you sat. you made it through the first day.

three years was starting to look a lot less doable.

the door creaked open.

a boy, one you hadn’t seen before, stood at the archway. all eyes fell on him.

he scanned the room, noticing the sudden decrease in cadets. his expression was unreadable. you could see the faint shadow of his stubble across his jaw, his dark brown hair falling just below his eyes. there was a scar on his left eyebrow, cutting dangerously close to his eyelid.

“training begins in twenty minutes. gather your things and meet in the hall once you are ready. your squad leader is not particularly fond of late attendance,” he ignored the blood. he didn’t even bother asking about the four missing people. he treated it like it was normal, and maybe, it was.

you stood up from your bed, slipping on your boots. hana did the same, but her movements seemed more sluggish. she hadn’t slept a wink, either. after the events of yesterday, you were sure you would drop dead in a few hours. your body was exhausted, bruised, bleeding, and you had no time to properly rest. the cuts on your palms had reopened. you could feel the sting every time your hands flexed to tie your laces together. the once clean gauze was now a dull brown color. your torso felt raw, the bruising always being worse the second day, but they didn’t care. no matter what injuries you may have, it didn’t matter. bruised ribs and broken arms were an occupational hazard—came with the job.

you pushed the pain down into that same little box you had made up in your head. the more you focused on the sting and the ache, the worse it would feel.

you followed the others outside of the room, hana trailing behind you. you could sense she had been thinking all night, her brain trying to justify everything all at once.

regret, shame, and fear.

she felt it all. now, she couldn’t back out. it was too late.

your only way out of the rider’s quadrant was to die.

the training room was big; big enough to hold sixteen people.

the room had everything a rider-in-training could ask for. sparring mats laid across the floor, spaced apart with perfect precision. punching bags hung on one end of the room, while the other end had a wall lined with weapons.

real weapons. not sparring sticks and wooden swords, but real ones. the steel glistened as sunlight reflected off of it.

all the cadets stood in orderly formation. you chose to ignore the four empty spaces behind you. at the front stood squad leader yang, the male from earlier, a woman, and two other men you had never seen before. they all emitted the same energy.

powerful, cunning, and unforgiving.

pure blood dragon riders.

“made it on time, i see.”

yang.

your eye twitched in annoyance, or exhaustion; you weren’t sure. you ignored his remark, gaze turning towards the unfamiliar faces.

the woman—she had short pink hair that stopped right above her shoulders. with her outfit, you could see a deep scar that ran down her forearm in a straight line. on the same arm, right at the bicep, was a mark. a tattoo, of sorts, that signified a rider’s bond with their dragon. the sigil was made with intricate lines, its vines wrapping around a blade that hung upside-down in the center.

the boy from earlier—he carried a weight that seemed centuries old. he looked to be around your age, maybe a little bit older, but still in his early twenties. he had taken off his overcoat, the black shirt he was wearing hugging his figure a little too well. his arms were toned and muscular, a result of the constant training and battles he had probably endured. there were no markings on his arms, aside from a few small scars that cascaded down to his wrists. there was a small symbol on his shirt, on the right side of his chest. a faint, gold emblem of a dragon facing the sky with two rings around it. you weren’t sure what it signified. a mark of importance, surely.

then, there was the male right beside him—there was something cold about him. his pale skin, sharp eyes, his hair messily splayed across his forehead. he was a kind of beautiful that was dangerous, the kind where if you got too close, you’d be burned (ironically). you noticed the little moles that decorated his face, almost invisible from where you stood. there was a scar on his cheek and one that ran down the side of his neck, disappearing underneath his black t-shirt. he was slightly bigger than the previous, the muscles in his arms bulging against the sleeves. his shoulders were broad and he was tall.

'Gods, forgive me.'

his bicep was covered with what looked to be branches, sharp and bare, wrapping fully around the limb like barbed wire. you knew he was strong. he didn’t need to prove himself for everyone to know what he was capable of.

right beside him stood another man you hadn’t met yet—this one had a quieter aura. not soft, just quiet, like a snake waiting for its prey. his arms were crossed over his chest. his top missed their sleeves, showing off his shoulders. he was turned towards the pinkette, conversing with her about something. it seemed serious. your eyes trailed to his back. it was slightly visible due to the missing parts of his top. you could make out a few dark, tattooed lines on his back. however, you couldn’t quite figure out what it was. his hair was brushed out of his face, parted neatly down the middle to expose his forehead. what surprised you was there were no marks on him. his skin was clear of damage, not a single abnormality to be seen. that intrigued you. he seemed older than you, too, so it would only make sense for him to have some sort of battle scars.

finally, your eyes landed on yang. the blonde boy that had your blood pressure rising by just existing. though, you couldn’t do anything about it. he was your squad leader. you had to obey him.

like a dog.

his hair was messy, too, but it still fell perfectly in front of his eyes. it pissed you off beyond imagination. he was wearing the same outfit as the rest of them—wide, black cargo pants and a simple black shirt, except his also had a symbol on it. it was the same as the other, but his had one ring instead of two. it made sense, then. it was an insignia of leadership.

you assumed the other boy was his second in command. his skin was empty of scars, too. maybe they were hidden, not visible to just anyone. as he turned around, your eyes caught the etching behind his neck. it barely peaked over his shirt, but you saw it. right below the tips of his golden hair were thick, intricate lines that most likely ran down the expanse of his backside. his shoulders were wide. it made you wonder how big his sigil was, too.

maybe it was as big as his ego.

he stepped forward, arms folding over his chest.

they really enjoyed doing that here.

“welcome to your first day of training. today, you will learn how to fight—hand to hand combat. proper physical ability is crucial. strength, stamina, speed, all of it. bonding with a dragon gives you abilities others could not even dream to touch, but it does not guarantee your life. battling with your hands is just as important,” he nodded his head at the four people behind him. they stepped up to the front in perfect sync. it was practiced, controlled, like they were military folk.

“the five of us will be watching over you all as you spar. you will go in pairs. if you don’t have a partner, you can choose someone who has previously went—or one of us.” the cadets swallowed nervously at that.

“second in command, lee heeseung,” the boy from this morning. he gave nothing but a slight nod of his head. “if i am ever absent and you need assistance, he will be who you go to.”

“park sunghoon, park jongseong, and nyra solmere—second and third year dragon riders. if you require extra training, you may rely on them as well,”

“don’t forget yourself, pretty boy.” the pinkette, now known as nyra, spoke. it earned a snicker from heeseung, both of their faces twisting with mischief.

“yang jungwon, everybody. your squad leader and a second year dragon rider. pretty impressive if you ask me. isn’t that right?” her tone was light, like she was teasing.

the blonde rolled his eyes, an annoyed huff leaving his lips. “back to more important matters,” he emphasized the word ‘important’ with a pointed glare, earning a shrug from nyra.

“do you think they’re dating?” hana whispered, eyes flickering between the two of them. “doubt it. riders don’t have time to date. plus, he’s a total dickhead. i’d feel sorry for anyone dating that.”

she looked at you in surprise, her lips morphing into a little smile, “not a fan. got it.”

“partner up. then, we will have each pair go one at a time.” the cadets began choosing their sparring partners. you and hana stuck beside each other, naturally. you both watched as the first two stepped up to the sparring mat. they stood facing each other, but had their attention turned towards jungwon to await instructions.

“the rules are as follows—no magic, not that you have any. other than that, no rules.” his arms remained crossed, eyes narrowing slightly on the first years before him, “you could kill each other, too, if you want.”

the room stilled. even here, where they would prepare you to take on the dangers of the outside world, you could die. there was no safety within the corners of these walls. you couldn’t risk trusting anyone. at least, not fully.

not even hana.

your thoughts became littered with doubt. what if she was using you? pretending to be your friend so she could ultimately kill you in the end? that’s what this was, right?

a survival of the fittest.

you couldn’t let those ideas take over. you had protected her and she saved your life. that had to have meant something.

you watched as they began to spar. their movements were calculated, perhaps they had trained well before today. every punch that landed was met with a returning kick or block. they fought like their lives depended on it. you didn’t know if one would try to kill the other or not, but they fought like that possibility could hold true at any moment. as if on cue, one of them reached into their boot, pulling out a short dagger. she lunged at her partner, plunging the blade into their stomach. you flinched, specks of their blood landing on your pants. she pulled the blade out, watching as they collapsed onto their knees. you could barely register the crimson that tainted your clothes before a loud sigh cut through the suffocating silence.

“alright, clean it up.” jungwon’s voice ordered, not even bothering to spare them another glance. sunghoon stepped forward, scooping up the cadet with both arms before carrying them out of the room. you didn’t know if they were dead or alive. perhaps, you’ll find out tomorrow. “so, who wants to go next?”

more began to step up. some were left with bruised knuckles, broken ribs and fingers, black eyes, and cuts so deep they would leave a mark once healed. this time around, nobody had died. you couldn’t get your hopes up, though. there was still a chance it could be you. if hana was as sly as your brain had convinced you she was—

“you,” you glanced in the direction of the five riders. all of their attention was on you as jungwon stepped onto the mat, eyes locked with yours.

“you’re with me.”

suddenly, that chance was a lot higher than you thought.

you stared at him in shock, fingers twitching at your sides. “i already chose a partner.”

jungwon glanced between you and hana, his shoulders lifting with a shrug.

“she can partner up with someone else. plus, there’s eleven of you. one of you would have to spar with one of us anyway. why not make it interesting. right, cadet?” that look on his face. it was the same one he wore when you had prepared to climb the steps of the parapet. again, he was challenging you, as if you needed to prove yourself to him.

it felt unfair.

why you, of all people?

your jaw clenched, annoyance bubbling up inside of you before you walked onto the mat. this was it. you were going to die. you were sure of it. from the very beginning, you could tell he hated you. the feeling was mutual, but you weren’t sure how far his hatred spanned.

maybe he simply thought you were weak, unfit to become a rider.

someone to pick on.

maybe your existence offended him. he could kill you now for whatever reason and nobody would care, because death was normal in the dragon-riding quadrant, no matter the circumstances.

as if he could hear your thoughts, his smile fell. “don’t worry. i don’t bite.”

if looks could kill, you would be dead already.

you fought the urge to scoff. before you could respond, he lunged at you. you ducked your head, a useless attempt at evading him. he grabbed your arm, twisting it behind your back before slamming you into the wall. you yelped in pain, feeling you shoulder twist in a way that was unnatural. “doing nothing gets you killed, cadet.”

you could feel his warm breath against the side of your temple as he spoke, pulling you back and spinning you around to kick at your legs. your knees buckled, sending you straight into the ground. your shoulder made an agonizing ‘pop’ sound, making you cry out. the pain traveled through your entire body, every nerve set ablaze. he dug his knee into your back, his hand pushing hard against your shoulder.

he was on top of you now, leaning forward to whisper into your ear, “you’re weak. it’s pathetic, really. you try too hard to control yourself. instead of doing something with that anger, you stand there—hesitating. waiting. like it’ll go away on its own,”

he forced his knee deeper into your spine, a pained moan escaping your lips, “you don’t deserve to be here. if you can’t even hurt the person you swear you hate the most, what can you do? who can you kill?” jungwon watched as a stray tear fell from your eyes, trickling onto the mat below you.

“crying won’t get you off this floor, cadet. are you going to fight back, or are you going to prove me right? prove to everyone watching right now that you don’t have what it takes to be a rider?” he leaned in closer, his hair tickling your cheek.

“prove that you’re better off dead?”

your body was screaming at you to surrender. you shoulder was throbbing, the sharp pain made you dizzy. deep down, you knew—he wasn’t completely wrong. you had tried, tirelessly, not to let your emotions take over and turn you into a monster. you did everything in your power to avoid becoming what you despired.

becoming someone like him.

he who didn’t hesitate. it didn’t matter that he was your leader. not once did his thoughts waver before hurting you. he probably wouldn’t think twice about killing you, either. it made you realize something.

it was how he’s survived.

jungwon, sunghoon, nyra, and especially heeseung and jongseong. they were third years. they were living, breathing proof that it was possible to make it that far alive, but that came with sacrifice.

their eyes were empty because they gave up something along the way.

their souls.

you knew deep down, they weren’t bad people. they were riders—fighting to survive. they didn’t choose to do it; they had to. born into this world and forced to live a life they never chose.

and if living meant losing a piece of yourself, they would do it again.

you kicked your leg up, wrapping it around his thigh before flipping the both of you over. the searing pain from your shoulder made you hiss, instinctively reaching to cradle it in your hand.

the box.

you forced the feeling down, as far as it would go before closing it completely. you had to tune it out.

jungwon stared at you, the same smirk returning to his face, “not much of a damsel in distress after all, are you?”

before you could think, you punched him. it was enough to make his head turn, cheek meeting the ground. almost instantly, he grabbed at your hips and pushed you off of him. you landed on your side, having rolled a few feet away from your original spot. he stood there, thumb wiping away at the blood on his mouth. his eyebrows quirked up, as if he was waiting for you to attack him again. you got up off the floor, biting the inside of your cheek to distract yourself from the pain of your (definitely) dislocated shoulder.

you charged at him, fist flying. jungwon dodged every hit, taking the opportunity to land a hard punch on your ribs. you folded over in pain, giving him an opening to pull you towards him. you gasped as your back met his chest, one arm tightly wrapped around your torso as the other leveled with your chin. the thin edge of his dagger pressed against your neck, hard enough to draw blood. you whined softly at the burning sensation, hands reaching up to grab at his arm. the last of your strength had left you, your knees fighting the urge to buckle again. if he wasn’t holding you up with his arms, you would have collapsed by now.

“see, better, but you’re still weak. your stamina needs improvement and so does your speed. your strength is there, but strength without strategy is useless. the next time we spar, i expect to never get you in this position again,” his voice was low. everything he was saying was meant for you and you alone. you hated how he was right—hated how he probably went easy on you because he had always known you were incapable of winning against him, or anyone.

‘the next time we spar,’ those words stuck with you. this wouldn’t be the last time you go up against him.

Gods, you were fucked.

"stop hesitating, y/n," his arms dropped to his sides, sheathing the dagger back into its rightful place. the minute his hold loosened on you, you stumbled forward.

your shoulder.

the pain came rushing back in, your opposite hand reaching up to keep it in place. hana rushed to your side, holding you up carefully as to not hurt you any further.

“nyra, take her outside. and you—” he pointed at hana, “let’s go. your partner is waiting.”

hana looked at you, worry evident in her gaze. you waved her off, assuring her that you’ll be okay. she swallowed dryly, pausing before giving you a nod. you watched as she headed onto the mat. you could only hope you would see her return to the barracks afterwards.

nyra stopped in front of you, her head tilting towards the door. “c’mon. off we go.” you followed after her, muscles relaxing in relief at the thought of her taking you to a healer. maybe jake—

“shirt, off.”

what?

you stared at her, dumbfounded. this was the second time someone had asked you to strip, and now you really didn’t know why it was necessary—

“remember what he said, cadet. no hesitation? this is a direct order. hurry on, take it off.” her hands moved animatedly as she rushed you to undress. with a sigh, you took off your top, careful not to strain your shoulder too much. she took it from your hands, folding it up slightly before holding it at your mouth. “okay, now bite.”

you knew exactly where this was going—and you fucking hated it. this was going to hurt.

bad.

you opened your mouth, teeth digging into the rolled up fabric. you wanted to ask her to prepare you, but your plea came out muffled. before you knew it, she had pushed you up against the wall. you felt her hand grab at your shoulder, rubbing it gently with her palm before—

*POP!*

your scream was silenced by the shirt in your mouth, eyes tightly shut. the pain was agonizing. there were spots in your vision, and the urge to faint was strong. after a few minutes, it slowly began to subside. it left behind a dull ache, but you were able to somewhat mobilize your shoulder again. “there. a little unprofessional, but the healers are busy right now. so you got me instead.”

you turned around, leaning against the wall as you ripped the shirt out of your mouth, “thanks, i guess.” the blood from your neck trailed down your sternum, seeping into the band of your bra. you stared at it in disgust, “can i at least a new shirt? and something for.. this?”

nyra bit her lip, holding back what you assumed was a laugh. with a raise of her eyebrows, she motioned you to follow her. the two of you walked in silence. luckily, all the cadets were too busy training to be wandering the hallways this early in the morning. she stopped in front of a large door, her hand waving in front of the lock before hearing it click open. it revealed a large room, decorated with vines and flora that dangled from the ceiling. in the center was a large bed, one that looked much more comfortable than the mattresses you had been assigned to in your barrack.

nyra walked over to her drawer, pulling it open before digging for something. she tossed you a plain black shirt, similar to the one you had worn. “i haven’t worn that thing since my first year. you can have it. it’ll probably fit you better, anyway,” her finger drew a little circle around her chest.

your cheeks lit up, quickly mumbling a ‘thank you’ before carefully slipping the top on. “come, sit. let me treat that nasty ass cut.”

you listened obediently, hands resting in your lap as she sat in between your legs. her fingers gently grabbed at your chin, lifting your head up to get better access to your neck.

“you know, jungwon wasn’t gonna kill you, right?”

you let out a scoff at that, “yeah, well, didn’t seem like it. look what he did to me.”

“he means well. plus, he’s right. you are weak,"

okay.

ouch.

at least, right now you are. i can tell you’re afraid—scared of what’s to come and who you might turn into,” you hissed when she pressed a damp cotton round on your wound. she ignored your pained protest, continuing to dress the wound as she spoke, “you’re here to become a rider. that comes with a price. you need to start thinking about what’s really important. i know we can’t decide that for you, but survival should always come first. friends—people in general—they come and they go. now, i’m not saying don’t build any relationships here, but loyalty is earned. it isn’t a given. you can't trust so easily,” you sat quietly, digesting her words.

“you know about the bonding process, right?”

you gently shook your head.

“once a dragon chooses to bond with you, your lives becomes one. if your dragon dies, so do you. if you die well, they survive, but they’ll be grieving for a very long time. some end up as recluses and refuse to bond ever again. others can turn vengeful. it gets ugly—being a rider. a bond doesn’t just mean you’re gifted with powers. it’s a soul tie. a real, serious connection. your bonded becomes your everything. you feel each other’s emotions, each other’s pain, all that shit. do you see now why you can’t afford to be weak? why you have to put yourself above all else? there's no room for error out there. you either live or you die. no second chances, no blessings from fate or Morvak to protect you,” she pauses, her fingers smoothly taping the thin bandage to your neck.

nyra stands, tossing the remaining trash into a bin. she peers down at you, offering a gentle smile, “i know you have it in you to make it to bonding. jungwon doesn’t though, so if you wanna get on his good side you’ll have to prove yourself. he takes the ‘squad leader’ role very seriously, if you couldn’t tell."

you roll your eyes at that.

“it’s quite clear.”

“i’m sure you’ve heard it already, but you were put in this section for a reason. ‘the most dangerous and unpredictable’ or whatever formal bullshit jungwon was spewing yesterday. that title also means we can be one of the most powerful, and he refuses to let anyone dampen that. it’s a little power hungry, but once you see what it’s like, being one of us, it’ll start to make sense.”

you stood up, too, smoothing out your shirt, “thank you, nyra.”

“don’t mention it. seriously. he’ll kill me if he knew i was kissing up to you,” you both chuckle at that.

“but, just know, if you need anything you can come to me. i won’t try to kill you—ironic after that whole speech i just gave you—but i promise. consider me an ally,” she held out her pinky finger, wiggling it at you. you stared at it for a second before holding up your own, interlocking it with hers. nyra smiles at the gesture before pulling her hand away.

“come, they’ve probably finished by now. i’m fucking starving,” you followed her out of her room, the two of you heading towards the dining hall. you were grateful for her kindness. you could tell, from her words alone, that she had experienced suffering before.

enough times to make her accept the sheer weight of the world that was in front of her, but you didn’t want to pry.

one day, you think, you’ll ask.

for now, you could only hope she was telling the truth when she said jungwon didn’t want you dead.

the dining hall was filled with people. some chattered amongst themselves while others ate quietly, shying away from everybody else. you grabbed a tray, turning to speak with nyra but she had already ran off. you watched her skip over to her friends, sliding into the spot between who you remembered to be jongseong and heeseung. you sighed, making your way towards an empty table. you sat in silence, picking at your food with your fork. you hadn’t eaten a meal in over a day, yet you had no appetite.

everything you had dealt with in the past twenty four hours had finally sank into place in your brain. in such a short time, you had seen, and come close to, so much death. you don’t know when you would become numb to the feeling, and a part of you hoped you never would. the feeling in your chest—it was another reminder that you were still alive. you pulled apart the roll of bread, popping a piece into your mouth. your thoughts were running wild with no way to silence them.

then, you heard a tray drop in front of you. glancing up, your eyes nearly popped out of their sockets. “oh my god, hana,”

she offered you a strained smile, wincing at the stretch of her lips. her cheek was a deep shade of purple and blue, swollen beyond comprehension, the wound on her forehead barely taped shut, and the cut on her lip had dried over with blood. “yeah, he got me pretty good..”

hana sat down across from you, arms folded over and resting on the table, “i’m happy to see you’re okay, though. sorry i couldn’t stay with you.. that jungwon guy. he seriously freaks me out. i really thought he was going to kill you, y’know?” you sighed.

you’ve been doing that a lot lately.

“yeah, i did too.”

“how are you feeling?”

you instinctively rolled your shoulder, “better. my ribs are definitely gonna be more bruised tomorrow and my shoulder fully came out of its socket, and i had a knife held to my neck, but i’m better. yeah.”

your eyes flicked over to nyra’s table. the blonde was sat across from her, wordlessly eating his food as his friends conversed with each other. you watched him, like you were trying to pick him apart piece by piece. why did he single you out like that? why does he hate you so much? you barely knew the guy, and yet, he has already become your sworn enemy.

the advice he gave you. it was supposed to help you, but it also hurt.

his words.

the fear that took over your body when he had that blade at your throat. at this point, you didn’t care about the ‘why’. he was a force to be reckoned with.

a monster.

nyra’s words were forgotten, and that same fiery hot hatred started to consume you once more.

you were sure of it, now.

you hated yang jungwon.

after your meal, you decided to head back to the training room. you had told hana you wanted to be alone for a bit—get in some extra practice. reluctantly, she agreed. you entered the room, gently shutting the door behind you. in reality, you didn’t know how you could possibly train with a messed up shoulder and limited movement of your mid section.

you just craved space, to turn off your mind and let the silence in. you had not a moment of peace since you arrived at the school, not that you ever anticipated it. it was a war college, after all.

the scent of sweat and blood lingered in the air. you stared at the mat—the one where jungwon had pinned you. the memory makes your muscles ache, the image of being held down replaying in your mind like a broken record. you thought about how you felt in that moment: helpless. if it had been someone else, if you had been in such a place out there in the real world, you don’t think you would have lived to see another day.

you kneeled on the floor, fingertips grazing the rubber-like surface. you had never trained to become a rider.

at least, not really.

your father was one and you resented him for it. his presence had been absent, the side of his bed was always cold. your mother had dealt with the worst of it all—her own husband, constantly on the brink of death while she sat alone at home with two kids, wondering if she would ever get to see him again.

what had hurt the most was not being able to say goodbye.

one day, the letters stopped coming. you had hoped, maybe, they had simply been lost in transit. maybe they forgot to pick it up, or accidentally mailed it to the house next door. when you had asked, you were met with pity.

no letter.

the last time you had seen him was two years before he disappeared, having been called north for an important flight mission. months had passed and eventually, you accepted that he may have died.

that was six years ago.

you were now twenty years old now. the grief had turned into anger. part of it was at him for becoming a rider, the other was at how you would never truly know. now, you were working your way towards becoming one yourself. the irony of it all made you cringe.

you felt it, though.

that feeling again.

hope—the last bits of it that sat heavily in between your rib cage.

if you succeed in becoming a rider, you could find out what happened. you could finally understand the reason for his disappearance and bring peace to your family. that hope was now dimming, the weight of everything making its way through the cracks.

a sudden noise pulled you back into reality. your head spun around, locking eyes with the person that just walked in. you felt a coldness spread within you.

it was her.

the girl from the stairs.

you quickly stood up, trying your hardest not to wince at the pain flaring up in your body. you couldn't show her you were hurt. she shut to door behind her, fingers moving to turn the lock. “so, you made it after all,” your throat ran dry, heart pounding violently in your chest. she took a step towards you, a wicked grin on her face.

“should’ve taken my advice, though,” her voice raised in pitch, the tone of it mocking. “throwing yourself off that bridge may have be more merciful than this.”

32 notes · View notes

ravennaortiz · 1 day ago

Text

Summary: A sweet treat leads to more than just a fun time for you and Juice. As always 18+

A/N: Tags contain spoilers! Character death, drugging, cheating

Sweet Treat, Forever Sleep

You giggled as you caught sight of Juice in the darkened bedroom before he disappeared as Jax stumbled in behind you, his hands still shoving your dress up as he tried to get his pants down. “Babe, think you might be a little too far gone” you stated sympathetically as he fell to his knees, blue eyes almost closed completely.

“Didn’t think I had drunk that much” he muttered as he lay back on the floor with a small chuckle. “Sorry Darlin. Let me get a quick nap and I’ll make it up to you and her” he added as he pointed at your pussy making you roll your eyes. Once the sounds of light snoring were heard you stepped over him and made your way to where Juice stood against the wall. You felt hot under his gaze and a tingle ran down your spine to your dripping slick.

“This is so wrong but so fucking hot” you whispered as you ran your hands down Juices chest as his hands found their way to your hips.

Juice chuckled darkly as he walked you back to your bed before pushing you down onto it. His hands working his belt as you swallowed hard. Mouth filling with drool at the anticipation of his thick cock sliding past your lips and down your throat.

“Roll over” ordered Juice as he let his cock bob free from his boxers before grabbing it and pumping it a few times.

You did as you were told with a smile before opening your mouth for him. You moaned as the taste of his pecum hit your tongue as he slowly thrusted into your mouth. Your tongue automatically tracing the thick vein as he pressed a hand to your throat making you feel even tighter around him.

“Good girl” he muttered as he moved in and out, glancing to Jax on the bedroom floor as he grinned. The two of you had gotten riskier and more obvious with your affair over the last year. Something about the risk of getting hot making each time even better. What had started as a drunken accident had turned into many nights and days of sober fucking.

Juice let go of your throat as he grabbed your dress and pulled it towards him before leaning forward to let his fingers work your wet, pussy. You moaned around him as he slipped two thick digits into your slick heat, curling them just right to hit that needy, spongey sweet spot that had you seeing stars within a couple moments. Your body twitched and clenched around him as you came hard, your hands going to his butt as you squeezed, nails digging into his flesh making him groan.

“Babe” groaned Jax as he started to shift on the floor next to Juice. The latter who quickly pulled from you, your moan echoing loudly as he moved to the closet as Jax sat up rubbing his hands on his face.

“Yes, love” you murmured as you moved to fix your dress and wipe the drool and such from your swollen lips and chin. Thankful the light was still off to hide your sweaty matted hair as you stood up to move in front of him.

Jax didn’t respond but simply grabbed onto the bed and pulled himself up before drifting back to sleep.

Your heart was racing as you let out a breath you had been holding. Looking to Juice who had taken the opportunity to shed all of his clothes, you watched as he moved to the doorway and hit the light switch. The room was flooded with light as you stared wide eyed at him, wondering what the hell he was trying to do.

“Its fine” he stated louder than you thought appropriate.

“He just was awake” you whispered as Juice made his way to the bed and crawled up it and on top of you.

“So?” questioned Juice as he turned your head harshly to face Jax as his lips bit and sucked at your pulse point. His hips grinding against you as your legs fell open. “That’s my good little whore” he purred as you let out a small moan as the tip of his cock nudged against your clit.

“Ple..please” you begged as you tried to raise your hips to get more contact. Thoughts of Jax far from your mind now.

“Please what?” questioned Juice as he propped himself up between your legs as his hands traveled your thighs, pushing them open more.

“Please fuck me Juice” you whimpered as you felt him place the head of his cock at your entrance.

Placing his hands on your knees to keep you spread open for him, juice slammed into you with a powerful thrust that had your back arching and his name slipping from your lips.

“Keep your eyes on your husbands face while you come undone on my cock” growled Juice as he gave you harsh long strokes while bringing a hand down to smack your engorged clit.

You had no idea how much time had passed or how long you had been looking into the piercing baby blues of your husbands. “Stop” you cried as you came, eyes rolling as you desperately retried to push him off.

Juice ignored you as he grabbed your hands and held them tightly as he started to thrust erratically before erupting inside you as he painted your walls with his thick load. “Don’t need to worry, he’s dead” he stated as he pulled from you a moment later and got off the bed to get his boxers as you scrambled to pull a sheet around you, as if that would keep your husband from knowing you were cheating. As if he hadn’t just watched you take his VP’s cum deep in your gut.

You clutched the sheet tightly around you as Juices words echoed through your head. "Wha-what do you mean?" You choked out as you started to shake and breathing quickened.

"Not sure how clearer I can be. He's dead. Heart stopped. Lungs not making oxygen, ya know opposite of alive " snarked Juice as he rolled his eyes as he turned from you and the body in your bed as he pulled his boxers up.

"How...I...I don't understand" you whispered as your eyes welled with tears as you scrambled off the bed. The need to put space between you and the body strong. This couldn't be happening you thought as you buried your face in your hands. "What did you do" you screamed.

"Me? Nah babe this was both of us at best but the whole club saw you feeding him so this is on you" snapped Juice as he whirled around and stomped around the bed jerking you up off the floor.

“How many of those chocolates did you give him? I told you two of the laced ones max.” stated Juice as his eyes burned into yours, his grip on your arms tight.

“Six” you whimpered as you looked away, lip trembling as tears trickled down your cheeks.

“Jesus Christ, why didn’t you just shoot the poor guy” chuckled Juice as he let your arms go and used his thumbs to wipe your cheeks.

“I didn’t” you started before he pressed a finger to your lips.

“Didn’t mean to ask Tig how to drug someone? Didn’t mean to make homemade chocolates for your dear hubby? Didn’t mean to give up your sweet pussy to his VP more than once? Didn’t mean to shoot and kill your mother in law when she found out? Didn’t mean to drive her body to a cliff and push her off? Didn’t mean to drug your hubby and invite his VP into your bed next to him? Didn’t mean to give him triple the recommended dose?” laughed Juice as he shook his head as he pulled you into his arms as he rubbed your back as you cried harder. “Which of those things did you not mean to do baby girl? Hmm? Tell me”.

“I…I…” you cried harder as your legs gave out.

“Its okay. I got you. I’ll fix this” soothed Juice as he moved you both to the floor. Briefly the thought of strangling you to death came to his mind but he had left evidence. Truth be told what had started as a way to take over SAMCRO had led him to catching feelings for you. Though he knew the only way two people could keep a secret was if one of them was dead. But maybe, just maybe he could turn this around he thought as he grinned.

Two Days later

“Doing okay love?” inquired Juice as he strolled down his basement stairs to the hidden room where you were naked, collared and chained in a large cage.

“Yes” you replied smiling at him. “What big moves did my new Hubby President do today?” you inquired as he joined you in the cage as he started working his belt buckle.

“Made Halfsack VP and Rat my Sergeant at Arms.” He stated as he moved towards you as you lay back on the bed, opening your legs wide for him. “Good girl” he murmured as he climbed on top of you and slid into your hot click heat easily. “Few more days like this then we will bring you back” he stated as he thrusted in and out of you as you moaned and jerked under him.

A few hours later Juice knocked on Chibs door. He took a deep breath as he clicked the safety off on his gun as he heard his Old Friend call out just a moment. This would be the hardest kill, but Juice knew it had to be done to keep what you and him had done to Jax from being uncovered. Almost every original member had been taken out to keep anyone from questioning why you and Juice were so quick to get together. Because two could in fact keep a secret…..if everyone else was dead.

#sons of anarchy #juice ortiz #soa fanfiction #ravennasmasterlist #juan juice ortiz x reader #juice fanfic #juice fanfiction #juice ortiz fanfic #juice ortiz fanfiction #juice ortiz smut #juice ortiz x reader #juice ortiz x you #sons of anarchy fanfiction #sons of anarchy fanfic #fanfiction #tw cheating #sons of anarchy smut #jax teller

21 notes · View notes

scarletskye64 · 2 days ago

Text

So a friend and I watched SOTM today

Spoilers below along with my first thoughts.

In hopes of summarizing what I know is going to get out of hand very quickly.

This game dies after Jackie’s section.

Both me and my friend agreed Jackie was essentially the best part of the game, and it is horrible how Steel Wool actively does this with their poster villains. Yes you can say that “Jackie was never the poster villain, the mimic was!”

Yes & No.

Jackie was the first costume/mascot/animatronic revealed for this game, she was all over the marketing, she was even built for Pax! Hell, she was even the main antagonist of the Pax Demo!

After an hour into the game, she NEVER appears again.

She suffers essentially what I like to call “The Dimitrescu Effect”, Lady Dimitrescu was basically the big ticket item for Resident Evil Village, the first villain revealed for it, she was the big focus of many trailers! Yet she came first and was rarely mentioned again. While yes that made sense for the game and was quite obvious she wasn't the main focus, it felt horrible to see her be over and done with basically a couple hours into a maybe 8-hour game.

So The Dimitrescu Effect is when a character gets marketed for the game to hell and back, but appears/is the focus for basically a short part of it.

I was extremely excited to see Jackie in the game but was thoroughly disappointed in how she was utilized, although a few horror characters suffer from this, what comes to mind right now is Catnap and Vanny. But if I talk about them that will dive down a deep AF rabbit hole

I was willing to excuse Jackie being a small part of the game initially as I could see it coming a mile away. But past the Big Top section, it all went downhill.

So my issues with the lore.

It sucks. To put it nicely. I could describe what I want to do to it but we’ll be here all night.

Early into the game I mentioned to my friend that Murray’s Costume Manor felt like what I imagined Afton Robotics to be like. And if MCM had been Afton Robotics, the game would’ve been…….. So much fucking better.

This game essentially ruins everything about the original series.

The springlocks? Edwin made those.

Monty & Roxy? Edwin made those!

Sun & Moon??? Edwin made those!!

FREDBEAR & SPRING BONNIE!? EDWIN MADE THOSE.

THE PUPPET!? okay well to my knowledge he didn't make that but he had the plans or idea for it.

THE ORIGINAL ANIMATRONICS!? MOTHER FUCKING EDWIN MURRAY MADE THOSE!!!!

my friend made an excellent point that Edwin Murray is the most Mary Sue character ever, everything was made by HIM!

I can't be alone in thinking, Afton has a big ego and probably liked taking credit for things. But this is a whole new and frankly horrendous level. In the game we find communications between MCM employees and Afton that reveal he stole basically everything from Murray and his employees. Essentially boiling Henry & William’s impacts to zilch.

The only good original thing left for William is he made the funtimes, and even then that's debatable now!

This game is just… bad.

I don't think FNAF is heading in a good direction unless Steel Wool take a very long look at what they’ve done to the lore and story.

Unless they start taking criticism and listening to fan feedback, FNAF… is in short… doomed. Truthfully it has been for a long time… part of me hopes there's no more games after this, but I know there will be. Just maybe, they’ll be good. But I doubt it.

Secret of The Mimic essentially killed all hope I have for this franchise moving forward.

I’ll like sing a somewhat different tune tomorrow as I'm probably riding the fumes of hatred for this game, but this is basically my first thoughts I guess…

#fnaf #five nights at freddy's #secret of the mimic #jackie #the mimic #fnaf secret of the mimic #sotm #fnaf sotm #edwin murray

27 notes · View notes

blackcrowburns · 2 days ago

Text

PART 3: NO RETURN NIGHT (REWRITE) CALEB X MC. NSFW

(っ◔◡◔)っ 🍎 Minors DNI 🍎

⚠️: None Food play, oral (male receiving & female receiving, unprotected sex, light angst. Decided to rework some scenes and add actual smut to the old version. This is the biggest change from the old version. This will be in 3 parts. 🍎PART 1 🍎PART 2 Crossposting from AO3 if you'd rather read it in one go.

_____ lay on her stomach disheveled and in a daze, sweat soaked and tear stained as Caleb, pants long gone, removed his fingers from her dripping sex.

Her thoughts were hazy between riding his fingers, subconsciously grinding against the floor and wondering how to manage her work life, friendships and now dick appointments in Skyhaven.

“ I can't believe this is really happening. Do you feel any guilt or shame for the sins we've done tonight?”

________ saw him getting hard again.

“I'm okay with our sins Caleb. No matter what happens, I love you and I want to work things out with you.”

Lifting herself, she initiated their kiss, her breasts pressed against his hard chest and the ghost of his mouth and fingers still lingering between her legs.Affection surrounded them.

What _______ found in their pressed naked bodies was comfort.

“Let's go to the bed.” he suggested, rubbing her back.

“No, Caleb. We're doing it here.”

“Oh? What are we doing here?” He teased her. “Having cake?”

She grabbed his necklace and whispered into his ear.

“We're having sex.”______ sucked his earlobe. Kissing and tugging on the shell of his ear as she said those words knowing he'd never expect that word to come out of her mouth.His breath hitched at her boldness.

“You keep blushing a lot tonight Caleb.”

“ I can't help it when there's a beautiful woman and she's mine.”

_______ felt her panty slip over the curve of her lip down her slender legs.

Using his evol, the scanty cloth flew into Caleb's hands. His breaths laboured as he nuzzled the garment and gently held it to his nose and mouth. He admired it while tracing the damp spots caused by her “excitement” and his saliva.

“I can't believe you wore this tiny thing to the restaurant and when we watched Ta Ta. Were you hoping for this outcome, pipsqueak?”

Caleb put the lacy garment in the pocket of his discarded pants before moving into position.

Caleb rubbed the head of his wet cock between her legs, teasing her folds, once, twice, three times, four he kept swiping, watching the girl he loved face crumpled with pleading whimpers when she expected him to push in only for the teasing to continue.He smiled.

“It's my birthday but you're the one getting gifts.”

He'd be lying if he said he didn't dream about this day for years. Caleb lost count of how many impure thoughts he had about ______ ‘s mouth taking him and her sex swallowing him whole.

When he poured her body wash carefully on his cock, he imagined it was her juices dripping down after she'd come on him.

_______’s body screamed at her to do something, to move, push forward and claim his length and swallow it with her own body.

“Ahh.”

She thrashed, whimpered and whined on his floor all from the faintest sensation of Caleb's cock.

“ What's wrong, pipsqueak? What do you want?”

“Hmmn.” she gasped, rolling her sex up and down matching his tip's movements. Staying still was not an option anymore so she tried to undulate with him.

“I want you.”

Caleb leaned over and brushed a lock of hair off of her forehead, hips still teasing her into a frenzy.

“You have me so you must want something else.”

______ panted heavily, her head rolling to the side in shame. She couldn't look him in the eye.

Her silence was one that followed after an argument while wishing to disappear into the carpet but she couldn't. ______ lay on Caleb's floor, calves over his thighs with his manhood prodding at her.

She'd never escape him.

The Colonel asked a question and he demanded an answer.

His strong right hand slid up to her neck, slightly pressing the skin of her throat.

“Cal…”

“Look at me when I speak to you, I told you before to command me. What…do you..want?”

Tears formed again in her eyes when his hand tightened softly, his thumb running across her lower lip.

Tilting her chin, she saw him bathed in the lights whilst the shadows from the other side of the room, wrapped around his facial features and across the curves and contours of his muscular chest and abdomen. His eyes glowed as they burned into hers.

Caleb looked sinful, like a fallen angel, hard because of her, taking pleasure in torturing her. He kept edging you with a slight taste of him because he could.

Caleb owned her body at this moment.

“I want your cock. I want to…” _______ whined followed by a plethora of sinful words escaping her that would make a virgin blush but would have made his length hard if it already weren't.

From sleeping with him while he was fully dressed in his Colonel's uniform to doing it in his aircraft, she confessed it all.

Every demand she listed for his body delighted him. He planned to hold them all against _____ at a later date.

She wanted him. The girl he wanted for a decade wanted, no she needed him, begged for him even to make her fantasies come true. Caleb rested on his forearms, keeping the chest she had admired earlier above her. Cupping her cheeks with both hands.

He wanted to see her eyes light up in ecstasy when she received his pleasure.

“Look me in the eye, when I enter you, my dearest love.”

Pressing his weight against her hips, ______ ‘s bit her lip stifling her cries. Her body tenses up in wanton greed when Caleb's tip entered her aching slit, he barely pushed it in but she loved it.

Through her eyelashes she pleaded with Caleb to give her more. Her childhood friend kept her face in place with his hands.

His gaze never left, watching her say his name like a sinful prayer, watching her beautiful eyes widen then roll back into her head as he slowly pushed forward, inch by inch until her sanity broke.

She sounded heavenly.Moans escaped her like a mantra as her toes curled and the knot in her abdomen unraveled.

With Caleb the world became softer and tasted sweeter like sugar melting on her tongue.The two shadows on the wall became one. Clenching his eyes shut, he hissed at the feeling of himself fitting perfectly inside of her. His cock twitched as the pilot fought to restrain himself from taking ______ right there.

“Pipsqueak you feel…so good.” His brow knotted, riding the wave of satisfaction _______ brought him.

The stretch was delicious, his length, his size, she adjusted to it happily.

_______ had slept with men before but Caleb was special. Settling snugly inside of her, he buried himself deep between her spread legs. It felt comforting as if he were home.

______ was made for this. She was built to take him wholly. Her sex fluttered around him as if she didn't want him to leave.

Caleb and _____ admired where flesh met flesh in union, the connection that crossed the line into the unknown. It was too late now.

Their bodies were truly made for each other and no one else.

He ground against _____ her, walls squeezing around him, drinking in the throbbing pleasure he felt within her.

With his weight pressing on her lower belly, she clamped down on his thick, hot and pulsing length. Their moans echoed in the spacious room.

“Caleb is inside of me.” _______ thought “He's - ah!”

_______’s screams were muffled by his searing kiss when he thrusted, removing himself to slip back in but everytime, his cock went deeper and deeper into her as she became more familiar with him. His house was filled with the naughty sound of skin slapping against skin.

_______ gripped Caleb’s toned, sweat slicked back for dear life when his pace quickened.His muscles contorted beneath her hands, telling her that he'd been dying to have sex with her in order to put himself out of his own misery.

Pulling his face down for a kiss, his lips parted for her to explore. How many times had they kissed tonight? Not enough.

She was thirsty for his kisses, his lips were her oasis, giving her what she desperately desired.

In her sexual haze, to the far off corner of the room, she swore she saw a faint outline of an old woman watching in shock and horror as her “son” thrust into her “daughter” who rolled her body eagerly welcoming the deep shaft embedded within her, gyrating provocatively making her “son” breathless.

“Oh.” Caleb sighed as if ______’s sex would shatter him. He rolled his hips, slamming her back to reality, out of her imagination, his rhythm quickened.

She choked on a gasp when he hit her sweet spot. Caleb grunte when______scratched his milky skin in response.

Nobody was in the corner.

“I'm going to enjoy him and nobody will stop me.” _____ thought, greedily attacking his mouth once more.Caleb’s hand reached between their warm, slick bodies to thumb her clit, gently rubbing it, smiling into the kiss when her hips jerked.

Not wanting their kiss to end, she wrapped her legs around his waist, trapping his hand, the friction had her mewling.

She was at the mercy of his manhood and fingers. He said something but she wasn't listening anymore. All logic and rationality were gone now.

He lowered himself till their foreheads touched, her breasts pressed against his chest, their hot breaths fanning across each other's lips. His big, loving, purple eyes softened upon her disheveled form, he kissed her forehead and began working between her legs again.

Holding her waist, he rocked her forward to meet his thrusts, allowing him deeper into her body. The friction from his pelvic bone was maddening ,a white heat rippled through her belly. His body tensed and trembled.

“________ let's stay like this forever.” Caleb begged. ________ wished they could as he filled her over and over and over.It was too much for her but too perfect.

How he stuffed her, watched her, touched her. Pleasure spiraled in her lower body, low, hot and tight. _______’s lungs needed a reprieve as Caleb fucked her into a breathless mess.

Moving like a piece of silk in the wind, she chased her release. Undulating, arching, he felt her gyrating beneath him caught up in the throes of her sensual passion.

She painted an erotic picture that was meant only for his eyes as she chased her orgasm.Her pleasure climbed and climbed.

Caleb felt her thighs shake around his waist and her sex gripped him tighter. Knowing ____ is close, he ground against her sensitive spot, relishing in how her legs held on tensely to his waist.

“Don't be mean to yourself, pipsqueak. It's okay. Let your body breakdown around my cock.”

And she does.She falls apart with a scream so loud, she's sure his neighbours will be concerned. Her walls hold Caleb in a vice grip, spasming on him. Her orgasm hitting hard and torturous. She spilled herself all over his cock.

“ Fuck.” Caleb groaned. It felt better than the body wash.

Her wetness dripped down his length, past their connection onto his thighs.

Caleb watched her unravel because of him with a fiendish gleam in his eyes.

She convulsed, shivered and gripped the edge of the table seeking every bit of pleasure.

This excited him even more. Caleb chased his orgasm and ______ held onto him, waiting out her orgasm._____ was so lost between herself and the intoxicating scent of Caleb, she didn't realize when her eyelids shut.

Behind her eyes, she saw them both, her curled up against his chest in 502 Bloomshore taking a nap, her sneaking into his arms when the thunder scared her, him embracing her in the attic during vacation, him holding her in the interrogation room, hugging her with his mechanical arm and him insisting on cuddling in his bed that time he was sick. It all flashed by in grainy, filmy visions, hidden in the back of her mind.

Their pasts were too intertwined, the red string was knotted in too many places. When she opened her eyes, it was to a new memory of being in Caleb's embrace. She stroked his cheek.

“Caleb, I love you.”

Caleb grunted almost inaudibly, pulling out and in one deep stroke he cummed in his childhood friend.

Skin on skin, both of their bodies yearning and crying out for each other, needing each other.His thick, hot seed spilled deep inside of her.

She savoured its warmth, holding him there, her sex milking him of every drop. Caleb grinded into her in circular motions ,anchoring himself through his release. ____ was happy that she wasn't tired enough to see the results of her hardwork on him.

Then he collapsed on top of her, trapping her with his sweaty body and his chest moving against her skin with each loud inhale. This birthday had been just them and their devotion to one another.

No friends or coworkers, just two souls intertwined together in happiness, pain and loneliness.“I love him so much.”______ kissed his slick cheek and forehead.

She raked his scalp gently with her fingernails, playing with locks of his brown hair as she waited for him to compose himself.

“I'll move soon.” Caleb murmured against her shoulder.“________” he said hesitantly, his voice slightly muffled.

“Thank you for letting me love you like this.”He didn't pull out of her and she didn't mind. They stayed like that for a long time.

________________________________

Caleb wrapped his arms around her in a warm cocoon of muscles. Still naked, they spent some time kissing,cuddling and whispering sweet nothings.

“Did…you really like it?” He asked quietly. “What we did just now?” “And you were teasing me about asking you if you liked everything? Is my answer that important?”

“Of course it is ______.’

Kissing his brow, she reassured him. “There's so much I need to learn about you, pipsqueak. Your sensitive spots, your turn ons, what techniques you like or don't like.” Red painted his ears again.

“Since this is our first time, we can't try all of the positions so how will I know your favourite?”

Love swelled in her heart. What had she done to have a thoughtful and considerate man like him?

“We have all the time in the world ____.”

“But before that Caleb, give me back my panty.” “No.’ “Caleb! It was expensive!” “Then I'll buy you more expensive ones. When would you like to go shopping for some? I am curious about why you like ones that barely cover anything.” “I am not going underwear shopping with you!” “But you can go with Tara and Simone but not your boyfriend who will be taking those panties off regardless?” “Why do you want my underwear?” “It's a memento from the best birthday I've spent alone with you. You've taken so much of my stuff over the years. I can keep something of yours for once.”

Just when you thought the body wash incident was wild, he just had to take things further.

“Caleb, can you be normal for once?!”

__________________________________________

The floor wasn't their only tryst that night.

Trying to clean up after his birthday sex, led to her back against the shower glass stuffed to the brim. Then after she found her body pressed against the floor to ceiling windows where the clouds were the only witness to Caleb, rocking into her from behind.

There was definitely no friendship when the sun rose but they didn't care. Every kiss, every thrust and every moan after a lifetime proved something else had blossomed between them.

A soul consuming love.

Loneliness wouldn't touch them. There would be heartbreak but they would fight through it. Her worries had been for naught.

They weren't the sun and the moon, they were the sun and the sky.

Unable to live without the other.

21 notes · View notes